Once Upon a Freakin' Time
by Evadne
Summary: The Death Eaters attempt to do bad things, but mostly just do things badly.
1. Severus Snape Sells His Soul for a Quart...

(Harry Potter most certainly does not belong to me. J.K. Rowling created these villains, and I decided to mess with them. This fanfic is under construction.)

**Severus Snape Sells His Soul For Twenty-Five Cents**

(Based on a "Not Too Long Ago" comic by Sarah Noble. That's her username. Check her out.)

Severus Snape stood in front of the telephone, rummaging through his robe pockets, and swearing at the operator who was telling him to deposit another twenty-five cents for the next thirty seconds. Normally, this type of behavior would attract curious on-lookers or maybe even a cop, but Snape was in an airport. (Don't ask.) The people here were too weighed down by their baggage and too hassled by the extensive security checks to care that some strangely dressed man didn't have enough change to make a long distance call to Sacramento.

"Yes, yes. 'Please deposit twenty-five cents…' Argh! I would if you'd give two seconds to find a quarter, woman!"

The operator, being only a recording, paid no heed to Snape.

Unbeknownst to Snape, a dark shadow was dragging itself across the terminal toward the telephone Snape was attempting to use. Muggles trying to make their flights paid it no mind, but felt a slight chill in their very souls as it passed. An unspeakable evil had arrived at the airport. And it was coming for Snape.

Snape's fingers closed around something vaguely quarter shaped. "Aha!" he cried as he pulled it out and held it aloft to glittered in the fluorescent lights. It wasn't a quarter.

"A Sacagawea gold dollar? What am I going to do with this? I can't spend it, because Merlin knows when I'll see another one. And I don't want to keep it! It isn't worth more than a dollar and it's just cluttering up my pockets!" cried Snape. He felt the same way about Kennedy half-dollars.

The shadow was now directly behind the unsuspecting Snape. It reared off the ground, ready to wrap its evil intentions around the man and damn his soul for all time.

"Hi, Voldemort."

The chill abruptly vanished and the shadow formed into something vaguely human. "How did you know it was me?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "How many people exude evil into the atmosphere? It was either you or Carrot Top."

"Hey, what are you doing?"

"Making a phone call. What do you want?"

"Wanna join my evil cult?"

"What's in it for me?"

"The usual. Power, money, the fuzzy glow you get when you ruin another person's life."

"Eh. Who else is joining?"

Voldemort pulled out his day planner. "Lucius, Crabbe and/or Goyle, Nott, the Lestranges, Sarah's ex-boyfriend, Rick, and I asked Evadne about it, but she started screaming something about the Sorting Hat, so I backed away slowly."

"You have a day planner?"

"What? You have to be organized if you want to conquer the world."

"Do you have a quarter? I'm getting awfully sick of this operator."

"I'll give you a quarter if you join my evil cult."

"Fine, fine. Just give me the quarter."

"Great. Our first meeting is next Tuesday. See you then."

And POOF!, the world went up in smoke.

Moments later, Voldemort, coughing and waving smoke out of his face, said, "That didn't go quite as I hoped. Can I try that again?"

Snape had _very_ bad feeling about this.


	2. Voldemort Designs a Multimedia Presentat...

Voldemort Designs a Multimedia Presentation with PowerPoint

            Snape stuck his head in the doorway.  "I'm going to go to the store to get bread.  Is there…what _are_ you doing?"

            Voldemort looked up from the computer screen and twisted his lips horrifically at Snape.  It was obvious he was pleased about something and was attempting to smile, but some people just shouldn't be happy.

            "I'm giving a symposium for some graduate students on evil job opportunities in today's economy.  It's time we got some younger blood into the Death Eaters.  I don't mean child sacrifices either."  Voldemort laughed evilly.

            Snape gave Voldemort a "that is the worst joke I've ever heard" look.

            Voldemort coughed.  "Anyway.  I hope to recruit or coerce some of them into the Death Eaters tomorrow.  So, I'm designing a PowerPoint presentation with some of the pictures we took at the last company picnic.  What do you think?"

            "Hey, that's a pretty good picture of the softball game.  But, what is _that_?"

            "What's what?"

            "That.  In the corner.  The pale blob."

            Voldemort leaned forward until his non-existent nose was touching the screen.  "I think…I think…I think that's Lucius's thumb."

            "It's in this picture of you playing horseshoes too."

            "I think his thumb is in _all_ the pictures."

            "I told you, you should have given the camera to Avery."

            "Yeah, yeah.  I can crop that out of the pictures."

            "Anyway, before I forget.  Is there anything you need at the store?"

            "Nah.  Wait!  Don't go.  I want you to see the slide show!"

            "Will it be quick?"

            Voldemort ignored him and started the program.

            "Wait till you hear the dirge I got to play in the background, Severus."

            The hourglass wait icon appeared.

            "Argh.  What do you have to think about?  Just start….Why are you starting Windows Media Player?  There's no reason to start that….NO, I DON'T WANT TO REGISTER!"

            Voldemort started clicking through the dialogue boxes that kept popping up.

            "What do you mean 'There has been an error'?  Just play the stupid song!  ARGH!  WHY WON'T THIS THING WORK?!"

            Voldemort whipped out his wand and cursed the computer straight through the nearest window, nearly crushing Peter who was gossiping with the rats in the garden below.

            "Oookay," said Snape, "I'm just going to go to the store now."

            "Good thing I backed up my presentation on a floppy disk," said Voldemort.  "That's the second time I've done that tonight."


	3. Voldemort Forgets He Doesn't Like Black ...

Voldemort Forgets He Doesn't Like Black Licorice

            Voldemort, the Dark Lord, also known as Tom Riddle or the Guy-With-Way-Too-Many-Nicknames, was surprised.  This was pretty unusual, because when you've lived as long as he has, and have done as many nasty, evil things as he has, very little surprises you.  Not that it was a bad surprise.  It certainly wasn't as "Wormtail has tried to bake a Bundt cake again" surprise.  It was more of a "someone has left a box of black licorice on the desk" surprise.  Which is exactly what had happened.  Voldemort had walked into his study, hoping to make some progress in trying to take over the world, and he discovered that someone had left a box of black licorice on the desk.

            Voldemort's surprise quickly turned to suspicion.  Who would leave a box of black licorice on the desk?  Who even knew where he was?  And where the hell did that desk come from?   The Death Eaters knew where his hideout was, but they weren't around, other than Snape and he wasn't the thoughtful type.  Voldemort's only conclusion could be that someone in league with Dumbledore had discovered his location and was trying to poison him with black licorice.

            Voldemort snorted.  As if poison could kill him.  He should eat it anyway, just to spite the horrifically stupid person who had left it.  But, did he like black licorice?  Somewhere in the back of his mind, Voldemort had a vague recollection that he disliked black licorice.

            Voldemort shrugged.  It was candy, after all.  It couldn't _possibly_ be that bad.  The warning in the back of his mind grew louder, but he was used to ignoring warnings.  Voldemort popped a small piece of black licorice into his mouth.

            Half a house away, Snape's evening reading was disrupted by a pained scream.  For a moment, Snape thought it was someone being tortured, but he quickly remembered that no one had been captured for at least a month.  Then, who the hell was screaming?  There wasn't anyone else in the Death Eater headquarters except for…Voldemort himself.  There was a gurgle that sounded like it was coming from the kitchen.  Snape went to investigate.

            What he found was Lord Voldemort, Master of Snakes and Moron Who Doesn't Listen to His Own Warnings, sitting on the floor in front of the refrigerator, drinking milk straight from the carton.

            "Hey," said Snape, "get a glass.  We have to drink from that too."

            Voldemort glared at Snape and purposefully took another swig from the carton.  "Licorice…" he croaked.

            "Huh?"

            "Black licorice…on desk…burning mouth…"

            "Was there something wrong with it?  And what desk?"  What could someone have added to the candy to make it affect Voldemort?

            "Noooooo…" moaned Voldemort.  "It just tastes like tar…and salt.  It's nasty!  I had a recollection that I didn't like it, but…" Voldemort gagged and drank some more milk.  "I can't get the taste out of my mouth!"

            "So," said Snape, "it was just licorice?"

            "BLACK licorice.  You know, I've got a plan to take over the world."

            Snape thought this was a bit of a non sequitur, but Voldemort continued.

            "If I leave a box of black licorice on the doorstep of every powerful wizard in the world, they'll forget how much they hate it.  Then, when they try it and become incapacitated by the horrible taste, we can attack them and clear out the opposition."

            Snape thought this was a pretty stupid plan, but didn't have the rabbits to tell Voldemort this.  Instead, he said: "Where did it come from?"

            "I don't know, but that's not important anymore…come on, we have to go to the Netherlands and buy as much black licorice as we can."

            Meanwhile, far away, Dumbledore sat in his office at Hogwarts, wondering if Voldemort had liked the birthday gift he had sent.  He was nearly positive it was Voldemort's birthday, anyway.  Maybe next year he would get Voldemort a fruitcake.


	4. Tom Riddle Chooses a New Name

Tom Riddle Chooses a New Name

            "I bet you're all wondering why I called you here today," said the Dark Lord to his loyal followers, the Death Eaters.

            "Not really," said Snape.  Okay, maybe not so loyal.

            The Fearsome-One-Once-Known-As-Tom ignored him.  "I just wanted to let you know that I've chosen a new evil name after _someone_," at this moment he looked at Lucius, "told me that 'Master Overlord' was a stupid name."

            "You can't string two titles together to make an evil name," whined Lucius.  "You need a title and then some imposing noun or verb form."

            "Yes, yes," said He-Who-Can't-Be-Named-Because-He-Hasn't-Thought-of-One-Yet.  "But, I've done your stupid little rule one better.  I've come up with the perfect evil name."

            "Uh-huh?  And it is…?" asked Snape.

            "From now on, I will be known as…LORD VOLDEMORT!"

            There was a long silence.  Each of the Death Eaters looked at each other and then turned to stare at "Lord Voldemort."  Somewhere, a cricket chirped.

            "What?" asked Avery.

            "_Crucio_!" commanded Voldemort.

            "_That's_ your new name?" asked Snape, ignoring Avery's screams.

            "Yes," said Voldemort.  "Why, what's wrong with it?  It's more than an imposing noun or verb.  It's an imposing sentence!  It means "Flight of Death."  It's _French_, for godssake."

            "Oh," said Nott, "I thought it was 'Flight _from_ Death.'"

            "Yeah," said Snape, "and it sounds like the name of some cheesy illusionist.  'Tonight, one night only, LORD VOLDEMORT performs the most mind-defying magic of the mystics!'"

            "Ooooh!" cried Lucius. "Is he going to do linking rings?!"

            "No, I am not going to do 'linking rings!'" said Voldemort. "And I don't think it sounds like an illusionist at all!"

            "I mean," continued Snape, "how did you even come up with this name?"

            Suddenly, Voldemort looked embarrassed.  "It just…came to me," he said.

            This made everyone else extremely suspicious.  "'Came to you?'" asked Pettigrew.  "Like, in a dream?"

            "Noooooo…I actually…rearrangedthlettersinmyname."

            "What?" asked Avery.

            "_Crucio_!" commanded Voldemort.

            "What?" asked Snape.

            "I rearranged the letters in my name!  There, are you happy?"

            There was another stunned silence.  Again, a cricket chirped.

            "It's an ANAGRAM?!" demanded Snape.

            "Aw, that's so cute," said Lucius.

            "That's not cute!  That's ridiculous!  Your name can be rearranged to spell a French sentence?  That's…unlikely, at best.  What's your middle name?"

            "Marvolo," said Voldemort.

            Snape paused a moment to think things through.  "'Tom Marvolo Riddle' does _not_ make 'Lord Voldemort,'" said Snape.  "There are some extra letters."

            "Well," said Voldemort, "it technically makes 'I am Lord Voldemort,' but that would be a really stupid name."

            "Because the one you have now is pure brilliance."

            "Silence!  You will call me it, whether you like it or not."

            "So," said Travers, "your first name is Tom?  Not Thomas?"

            "Just Tom," said Voldemort. "So, are we all reconciled to my new name yet?"

            Snape sighed.  "Hell, if it makes you happy."

            "It does."

            "All right.  But that is one convenient middle name you have there."


	5. Evadne Validates Professor Snape's Parki...

Evadne Validates Professor Snape's Parking

(Author's Note: BASED ON ACTUAL EVENTS)      

"Evadne, would you please come here?  I need you to validate this man's parking."

            Evadne gathered the rubber stamp and the validation book and went to Professor Marcus's office.  The department faculty always had visitors, so it was not unusual for her boss to ask this. When she entered, Prof. Marcus was speaking to a man facing away from her.  He wore all black, unusual for even the most solemn professor.  Inexplicably, Evadne felt a sudden wave of inferiority pass over her.

            "Ah, Evadne.  This is Professor Snape.  He's visiting us from England."

            Evadne stared in shock.  She had not just heard what she thought she'd heard, had she?  But it had to be.  The lanky black hair, the hook nose, the unexplained anxiety…it _was_ Professor Snape.

            "I…er…hello…" she barely said.

            "Here is my parking ticket," Professor Snape said, dispensing with formalities.  "If you would please?"

            Evadne quickly stamped and signed the ticket and opened the validation book.  Just don't look at him, she thought as she entered the date, his name and his ticket number.  Don't stare, don't talk, and for godssake, whatever you do, don't laugh.

            This plan came crashing down when Evadne suddenly realized she had to ask him who was sponsoring his visit.

            "Um…sir?"

            "Yes, what is it?" he replied shortly.

            "I need to know who your cost center is."

            "Professor Potter."

            You've got to be kidding me, thought Evadne.

            As Evadne carefully recorded this information, she started to smirk, as a thousand jokes passed through her mind.  This desire quickly faded, however, when she handed Professor Snape his validated parking ticket.  He was glaring at her with such force that it could have stopped a moving truck.  Go ahead, the glare said, I dare you to.

            Evadne's mama hadn't raised no fool.  The desire to crack a joke warred with the desire to run away as fast as humanly possible for all of two seconds.  It ended with Evadne skittering away and throwing herself under her desk.  

"Please don't take fifty points from my house!" she screamed fearfully, curled up next to her CPU.

            "Wretched child," muttered Professor Snape, as he left to get his broom from the garage.

(A/N: Department of Backstory:  I work for the Institute of Materials Science, and they are always hosting foreign professors for conferences and such.  The other day, my boss asked me to validate the parking of Prof. William Snape of England.  I thought this was the funniest thing since Anna Kornikova, but it didn't end there.  The sponsor of Prof. Snape was Prof. Donald Potter of my department.  I almost died.  Sadly, however, I didn't get to make any of the jokes I wanted to because I probably would have lost my job for sassing my boss and his guest.  Instead, I have to settle for this.)


	6. Sirius Bitch-Slaps Peter

Sirius Bitch-Slaps Peter (for Sarah)

            Peter was losing at chess to Lucius when the door flew open.  Sirius Black loomed in the doorway.

            "S…Sirius," stuttered Peter, "This…this isn't what…"

            *SMACK*

The End


	7. Voldemort Catches a Bad Case of Anime Vi...

Voldemort Catches a Severe Case of "Anime Villain Laugh"

            "Do you see the simplistic brilliance of my plan?" asked Voldemort to his three most loyal Death Eaters, Snape, Lucius and Wormtail.

            "Um…" said Wormtail, "could you run this by me one more time?"

            Voldemort sighed.  "Alright.  Peter, that's you, will talk to his friends, the rats, and convince them to storm London and freak out every Muggle that lives there.  That's when Snape will show up with his magic pipe and…"

            "No," said Snape.

            "What?" asked Voldemort, with flashing eyes.  You know, like Dumbledore and his twinkling eyes, only evil.

            "I said 'no.'  Did you even look at the costume you gave me?  I am not wearing green tights.  Nor that Robin Hood feathered hat."

            "Snape…" said Voldemort, warningly.

            "Kill me.  I would rather have the Killing Curse performed on me than wear that outfit.

            "I'll do it!" shouted Lucius, coming to the rescue.

            "Are you sure you can handle it?" asked Voldemort.

            "Absolutely!  All I have to do is wear green tights, play the flute and make the rats follow me, right?"

            "Fine."  ("Hooray!")  "Then, Lucius will then lead the rats out of London.  Are you following this, Wormtail?"

            "Um…yes?"

            "Good.  The Ministry will know something is up, so Lucius, you will Apparate the hell out of there.  While the Ministry is distracted trying to find you, Snape and I will storm the Ministry offices and take the Minister of Magic hostage.  They'll be forced to turn control of the magical world over to me.  HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…!"

            "But, what if…" started Lucius.

            "…HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…!"

            "Um…My Lord?" asked Wormtail.

            "MWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

            "Voldemort, snap out of it!" shouted Snape.

            "HOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!"

            Snape, Lucius and Wormtail just stared at Voldemort.  "Maybe if we wait a second," muttered Wormtail.

            "BWAHAHA!  BWAHA!  BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

            "I don't think he's stopping anytime soon," hissed Lucius.

            "HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!"

            "Oh, for godssake," said Snape.  And they left.

            "AHAHAHAHAHA…ahahahahaha…aha…aha…ha."  Voldemort looked around as the echo of his manic laughter died down.

            "Hey, where did everyone go?"


	8. The Death Eaters Terrorize the Potters

The Death Eaters Terrorize the Potters

            "I don't get it," whined Peter.

            "You never get it," mumbled Snape.

            "Look, it's very simple," said Voldemort.  "One of us sneaks up to the front door and leaves it on the doorstep.  Then, he…"

            "Or she," said Mrs. Lestrange, who should probably get a first name.

            "Or she," added Voldemort, "rings the door bell and runs.  Potter will open the door, see our 'gift' and stomp on it.  And…SUCCESS!"

            "But why will he stomp on it?" asked Peter.

            "Because it will be on fire, of course."

            "But, I don't see how that accomplishes anything," said Peter.

            "It _doesn't_ accomplish anything," said Snape.  "It's just annoying.  Which is why I think it's such a horrible idea!"

            "Why do you always have to disagree?" asked Voldemort.  "Do you just enjoy criticizing me?"

            "I just think it's a dumb idea to risk the lives of one of our men…"

            "Or women," added Ms. Lenore Lestrange, which is what I've decided to call her.  Someone gets it.

            "Or women," continued Snape, "just so you can pull a juvenile prank on the Potters."

            "I thought you hated Potter!"

            "I do.  Which is why I want to KILL him, not annoy him!"

            There was a long silence.  The other Death Eaters shifted uncomfortably in the hedges surrounding the Potter's house.  It was a good thing the Death Eaters only operated at night, because it was not supplying near enough cover.  The first cop who drove by would probably catch them.

            Voldemort sighed.  "How about if we terrorize them now and kill them later?" 

            "Promise?" asked Snape.

            "On my honor as evil incarnate."

            "All right.  But I am not running that up to the door."

            "Good, good.  Now, which one of you boys…"

            "Or girls," said Lenore Lestrange.  Yes, I realize it's alliterative, but so is everyone else's name.

            "Or girls, wants to have the honor of ringing the doorbell and running away?"

            No one moved.

            "You have five seconds before I Imperious Curse someone into doing it."

            There was a brief tussle as the Death Eaters pushed each other forward in an effort to stay out of Voldemort's wand range.  Peter ended up in front.

            "Why, Peter!" exclaimed Voldemort, "I didn't know you had it in you!  And if you get caught, why, I bet James Potter will kill you!  Being one of his former friends and all.  Here take this.  Wait, I need to set it on fire before you go."

            Peter snuck up to the Potter's door.  _Well_, he thought, _if you get caught, you can always turn into a rat._  With this confidence inspiring thought, he rang the doorbell.  _Wait!_ thought Peter, _James knows I can turn into a rat!  CRAP!_  Peter scampered like hell.

            This was fortunate, as James Potter opened the door a moment later.  "What the hell?" he asked as realized what was on his doorstep.  He quickly stomped it out.

            Voldemort, still hidden in the bushes, was pretty darn pleased with himself.  He gave one of his high, cruel laughs.

            "Honey," called Lily Potter from inside the house, "what's going on?"

            "I don't know," called back James, "There was a flaming Chia Pet on our doorstep."

"A what?"

"Flaming Chia Pet.  Don't worry, I stomped it out.  And I think I hear some girl in our bushes."

            "Or…" started Lenore from the bushes, "Wait, he already said girl, didn't he?"

            "That was not a girl!" shouted Lord Voldemort.  "It was I!  LORD VOLDEMORT.  Know me and know fear"

            "GET OFF MY LAWN!" shouted James Potter.


	9. Voldemort and Sauron Get in an Argument ...

Voldemort and Sauron Get in an Argument Over Who Has More Euphemisms

            "All I'm saying," said Voldemort, "is that while your franchise ended with the death of your creator, my franchise is still growing.  There are still three more books left to come out.  I could gain any number of new names."

            A giant Eye, wreathed in flame, glared at Voldemort.  An uncomfortable silence followed.

            "Um.…" said Voldemort, "You want to add something?"

            The giant Eye turned on a man sitting not too far away from two of the most evil beings ever to come into fictional existence.  He, however, showed no signs of fear.  In fact, he yawned in boredom.  The eye glared more intensely, if it is possible for a flaming, lidless eye to become more menacing.  The man suddenly noticed and jumped up with an "Er…sorry.  How may I serve you, my lord?"  This was the Mouth of Sauron.

            The Eye stared intensely at the man for a moment.  "My Lord Sauron says that he has had thousands of years and several ages to rack up many euphemisms.  You've had, what, fifty years?"

            The flames around the Eye increased dramatically.

            "Oh, right.  I'm not supposed to use your real name.  But then, how do I tell people who _I_ am?"

            The Eye looked slightly shocked at this oversight.

            "Oh please!" cried Voldemort, getting back to the subject.  "What does time have to do with it?  The amount of evil you create is far more important.  The amount of fear your real name inspires is more important.  The amount of screen time you get is more important.  I actually menace my main character personally.  You're an Eye at the top of a tower!"

            The Eye contracted with insane anger.  The Mouth of Sauron gulped and continued, "My Lord respectfully wonders what the main character has to do with anything?  After all, in three years, you will be defeated by a child."

            "And being defeated by a Hobbit is something to be proud of?  Please, you were destroyed by the epitome of 'cute.'  Besides, how do you know the Potter brat will kill me?"

            The Eye and the Mouth of Sauron exchanged incredulous looks.  "Please," said the Mouth, "you live in a _children's _book!  Of course you're going to lose!  And it dilutes your evil!"

            "How does it dilute my evil?  I kill, I torture, I maim.  What did you do?  Create some jewelry?  OoooooOOOooooh!"

            The Eye would have narrowed if it had had any lids to do so with.  The Mouth of Sauron continued, "Those pieces of 'jewelry' turned nine humans into some of the creepiest henchmen in literary history."

            "So you created henchmen.  So what?  I've got the Imperious Spell to do that for me.  Much less work than forging twenty rings of power."

            "Your henchmen are just evil men, not supernatural beings.  The unknown causes more fear.  You know that.  Why else would you put your Death Eaters in masks?"

            "Whatever."  Voldemort looked at the clock.  "Look, I have to get back before everyone thinks I've died again.  But I'm warning you.  In the end, Lord Voldemort will have more people scared to say his true name than Sauron."

            The Eye dilated imperiously.  The Mouth spoke, "Maybe, maybe.  If you don't get destroyed by another incredible plot contrivance in the meantime."

            Voldemort rolled his eyes.  "Uh-huh.  Now get out of here before I get a fire extinguisher."

            The Eye and Mouth Sauron disappeared with a flash of anti-light and a puff of black smoke.

            "Show off," said Voldemort.  "And he singed my guest couch again!"


	10. The Death Eaters Buy a House

The Death Eaters Buy a House

_            I am so going to die_, thought the real estate agent.  

            She turned and fake smiled at the group of masked, black robed men standing in a semi-circle behind her.  What she said, however, was, "The next house on our tour is a nice split level colonial from the early '60s."

            The man next to her smiled back evilly.  His face was pale, his nose was non-existent and his cruel red eyes glittered evilly.  "I just love the landscaping," said Voldemort evilly.  He went to the door and unlocked it.  Evilly.

            "I feel so stupid," said one of the Death Eaters.  It was Snape, naturally.

            "Shut up," said Voldemort.  "All right.  Listen up!  I want you all to spread through the house like a plague, destroying everything that moves…wait, no.  Those were your instructions for the raid last night.   What I want you to do now is spread through the house like a plague, checking for defects in the architecture."

            The Death Eaters, other than Snape, took off like winged bats throughout the house.  Which is really the only type of bat, so let's move on.

            "Okay," said Snape, "tell me again why we're buying a house when you have a perfectly serviceable mansion?"

            "It's not mine," said Voldemort.  "My father never actually recognized my existence, remember?  Plus, I loathe and despise everything having to do with him, so I wouldn't live there if I could."

            "Loathe and despise mean the same thing."

            "Shut up."

            Lucius's voice rang from the top of the stairs.  "Wow!  Check out all this closet space!"

            Voldemort turned to the real estate agent.  "So, tell me about this place.  Does it have a basement?  And is there enough space down there for captured prisoners and maybe a torture chamber?"

            "Um…it has a semi-converted rec-room."

            "That'll do."

            Lucius appeared at Voldemort's side.  "Guess what?!"

            "What?"

            "The inlays on the fireplace are gorgeous!"

            "Excellent!  The fireplace at our previous dwelling was extremely inadequate!  Is there anything else to report?"

            "There are lovely bay windows at the front, sufficient dining room space and enough bedrooms if we all don't stay at the same time.  On the down side, the water heater will need to be replaced within five years, but the septic system is in excellent condition."

            "How do you know that?" asked the real estate agent.

            Lucius smiled at her.  "I had Crabbe and Goyle dig it up.  I hope you didn't want the rhododendron in the backyard, Voldemort."

            "No.  I was thinking of starting a rock garden."

            "Oh, that'll be lovely with the gazebo we just bought."

            The real estate agent stood rooted to the spot in horror.

            "Well," said Voldemort, "I think we may take it.  Oh, and your life too.  Unless of course, you agree to join my evil band and sell houses at whatever cost I see fit."

            _I am going to die_, thought the real estate agent.  _I am going to die and I am going to be buried under a rock garden._


	11. The Death Eaters Start a Betting Pool

The Death Eaters Start a Betting Pool

(BASED, SADLY, ON ACTUAL EVENTS)

(A/N: No spoilers, as I wrote this [and had this conversation] before I finished OotP.)

            The Death Eaters' inner circle was sitting around the living room of their Headquarters, wondering why Voldemort had called this meeting, and where the hell he was.  Each of them had received an owl the night before, telling them to meet at their recently acquired house at 2:00 p.m. the next day.  This annoyed many of them, as the fifth _Harry Potter_ book was coming out that day, and they needed to buy a copy for their children (and themselves, truth be told).  But their master, Mr. Do-As-I-Say-Not-As-I-Do, had yet to show up.

            "I have places to be!" cried Snape, cueing an obvious character introduction point.

            The door flew open, and a hideous shape composed of pure Darkness (with a capital D) stood outlined in the doorway.  "My loyal minions, I…" started Voldemort, as he stepped into the light, "…am really sorry I'm late."

            "Eh?" came the reply.  I mean, how often does Voldemort apologize?

            "Yes…BUT I HAVE THE FIFTH BOOK!" he cried, holding the book over his head triumphantly.

            "Eh?"

            "YES!  And I have…er…brought one for everyone!"

            "Wow!" cried Lucius, "That's nice."

            "Yeah," said Snape, "but uncharacteristic.  Where did you get them?"

"Er…I stole a pallet while no one was looking."

Snape rolled his eyes.  "Why did you call us here?"

            "Well," said Voldemort, "I heard that someone important dies in this book.  I think that we should start a betting pool on who it is."

            "My money says that it's Dumbledore," said Nott.

            "That would make sense," agreed Lestrange.  "I mean, we know he's going to die, right?"

            "Yes," said Snape thoughtfully, "but it might be too soon.  There are still two more books to get through."

            "YES!" shrieked Voldemort.  Everyone turned to look at him.  "The little punk is finally losing that preternatural patience of his!"

            "Stop reading the book, Voldemort!  That's not fair!" cried Lucius.

            "It was only the first chapter," said Voldemort, looking chagrined.

            "Now, I bet it will be…" started Lucius, "…Snape."

            "What?!" cried Snape.

            "Think about it!  In the last book you were proven to be a good guy.  Now that the question has been removed, they have to martyr you!  Plus it'll make Potter really guilty!"

            "Oh, man," groaned Avery, "I hope it's not Snape.  Do you realize how much angsty fanfiction will be posted if it's Snape?"

            "It's not me," said Snape defiantly.

            "Hey," said Bellatrix Lestrange, who has sadly been given a real first name (I like Lenore better), "does anyone else find it slightly odd that we're reading about our future?  And we know Snape's a traitor?"  Snape felt a drop of cold sweat run down his back.

            "Don't worry," said Voldemort, "I've got it covered."  He pulled out his day planner.  "See, right here: 'Kill Snape before he betrays you.'"

            "Well, if it's not you, then who do you think it is, Snape?" asked Lucius.

            "Oh, it'll probably be Hagrid or Lupin or someone like that.  Someone Potter loves, but the story can move on without," said Snape, glad to change the subject.  "I hope it's Black."

            "I think it'll be whoever the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is," said Wormtail.

            "Umbridge," mumbled Voldemort.

            "STOP READING AHEAD!" shouted Lucius.

            "I just want to see what I'm up to!"

            "Anyway," said Wormtail, continuing on, "the DADA teacher always has to leave at the end of the book.  Why not kill him…"

            "Her…" said Voldemort.  "Ha!" said Bellatrix ("Beata Bellatrix"?).

            "…her off?"

            "I thought it was supposed to be a well-liked character who dies?  Can't rightly like someone we haven't met before," reasoned Snape.

            "Remember _Goblet of Fire_, though?  It was supposed to be a well-liked character then too.  But who was it?  Cedric," said Wormtail.

            "She wouldn't pull that twice, though.  Would she?" asked Nott.

            "And it would be a good way to get rid of DADA teacher.  You know, so Snape can _not_ get the job the next year," said Avery.

            "Shut up!  I will get that job!" said Snape.

            "And that," said Mr. Ridiculous-First-Name Lestrange, "will be the book you die in."

            "Wow, Potter sure does a lot of yelling in this book," said Voldemort.

            "That's it!" cried Lucius.  "Give me the book!"

(A/N: Hey, if anyone gets the "Beata Bellatrix" joke, email me with info on what it means [campuspolice@hotmail.com].  First person to get it right will get a "Once Upon a Freakin' Time" written for them about anything they choose, no matter how dumb.)


	12. The Death Eaters Have a Bake Sale

The Death Eaters Hold a Bake Sale

(partially based on a "Not Too Long Ago" comic by Sarah Noble)

            "Just bring it over here, Goyle," said Avery to the hulking mass of none too bright human flesh.  Goyle tottered forward uneasily, holding a folding table over his head, looking for the source of the voice.

            "Over here!  Here!  On your left.  OTHER LEFT!"

            Goyle swung all the way around, and CRASH!  The table banged straight into Avery, sending him flying across the rented hall.

            Snape sighed.  "Voldemort!" he called across the room.  "Goyle knocked Avery out!"

            "What?" asked Voldemort.  "That the second Death Eater he's put out of commission today."

            "No, no," said Snape, "Lestrange was knocked out by Crabbe."

            "Are you sure?"

            "Very nearly."

            "Maybe we should put those two on a less dangerous task."

            "We could have them open the Tupperware containers and place the food on the tables."

            Voldemort considered this arrangement.  "I think they could handle that."

            Snape sent the two indistinguishable henchmen to open boxes of apple crisps and eye-of-newt squares.  "And don't eat them!" he called after.

            "I will be so glad when this is over," said Voldemort.  "Hopefully, this event will raise us enough money to buy those masks and cloaks.  And, we're still paying off those tattoos."

            Snape shook his head.  "I told you we shouldn't have bought them from Ludo Bagman."

            "How was I to know they were temporary?"

            Snape rolled his eyes.  "Hey.  Wormtail didn't make a Bundt cake, did he?"

            "Of course he did."

            "Great, we'll be eating that for a month."

            Voldemort frowned.  "Where's Lucius?" he asked.

            "Narcissa's dropping him off after his piano lesson.  He should be here any…"

            "Hello, everyone!" called Lucius, running into the room.  "I made it!"

            "Did you bring anything to sell?" asked Voldemort, glaring slightly.

            "Yes, I did….I….where did I put it?"

            Narcissa Malfoy glided serenely into the room, carrying a plastic container.  "Sweetie, you left this on the broom."

            "Thanks, honey!"

            "I'll be by at six to pick you up.  Be bad."

            "I love you!" said Lucius, cheerily.  Narcissa left as calmly as she had arrived.

            "That woman has the patience of a saint," hissed Voldemort to Snape.

            "I made lemon poppy seed muffins!" said Lucius.  "What did you guys bring?"

            "I made my famous Deadly Nightshade Truffles," said Voldemort.  "Which reminds me, I have to go make a sign warning everyone that my truffles may contain wolfsbane.  Don't want one of the werewolves eating one, and then complaining of food poisoning like last year."

            "What did you make, Snape?" asked Lucius.

            "I brought a coffee cake."

            "Brought?"

            "I don't bake."

            "What?  You're the Potions Master and you can't cook?"

            "Shut up!  You made lemon poppy seed muffins!  That's a little girly, don't you think?"

            "At least my contribution didn't come courtesy of Sara Lee!"

            "Oh, geez!" shouted Voldemort as Crabbe took the cover off a container with such force that Travers, who was standing unfortunately close, was flung out the window.


	13. Severus Snape Decides to Join Dumbledore

Severus Snape Decides to Join Dumbledore

            Late one Saturday night, Severus Snape was at home, reading his favorite book (_101 Snide Comments to Drive Your Insane Boss Insaner_), minding his own business.  Sadly, this could not last because it wouldn't make for very interesting fiction.  Just as he was finishing the chapter on what to say when your employer decides to trust incompetent employees with complicated tasks (something Voldemort was famous for), Snape heard a phone ring.

            _The hell?_ Snape thought.  _I'm a wizard.  Why would I have a phone?_

            Snape looked around the room quickly.  Desk.  Chairs.  Piles of potions books.  A skull with a candle melted on top of it.  Martha Stewart's _Living_.  No phone, though.  _Maybe if I just ignore it, it will go away,_ thought Snape.

            That never works.

            "Dammit, where is that ringing coming from?!" shouted Snape.

            Suddenly, there was a flash of green sparks from the fireplace, and a bald, pasty, slit-eyed, snaky face appeared among the ashes.  Voldemort, natch.

            "Snape," said the head of the most evil entity alive, "would you just answer the stupid phone?  I have to talk to you."

            "But, you're right here.  And I don't have a phone."

            "Yes, you do.  I had one installed in all the homes of my Death Eaters so I could talk to them through non-magical means.  The Ministry won't suspect a thing."

            "Telephones?" said Snape, gearing up to use one of his new snide comments.  "That's…" Snape paused, "…a pretty good idea, actually.  The Ministry doesn't monitor Muggle communications like it does WizardComm."

            "That, and the fact that firelight creates a glare on my head.  Temporarily blinded Lucius the other day.  Now answer the damn phone!"  The head disappeared.

            _Wow_, thought Snape as he sifted through piles of _National Geographics _to find the source of the ringing, _Voldemort came up with a pretty good idea.  Of course, there's the issue of paying the Muggle phone company, but that's not monumental.  The Ministry's disdain of all things Muggle could be it's undoing.  Maybe he CAN take over the world._

Finally, Snape found the phone Voldemort had installed behind a hidden panel in the desk.  Snape thought this was a bit overkill, but Voldemort did have a flair for the overdramatic sometimes.

            "Hello?" ventured Snape as he answered the phone.

            "Excellent!" said Voldemort.  "I have come up with a brilliant idea that will put the Death Eaters on the pedestal of greatness.  When this is implemented, we will be stronger, smarter, and work better as a team.  Then we will be ready to decimate the Ministry and subjugate the wizarding world!"

            Snape found himself getting excited about Voldemort's plan for the first time in years.  He had always been skeptical of Voldemort's crazy schemes in the past, but the telephone strategy had inspired him.  Voldemort _was_ thinking.  He _did_ know the Ministry's weaknesses.  He _was_ a capable leader.  "What is it?" asked Snape.

            "We will create…"

            _Yes?  Yes?_

            "A company softball team!"

            It was about this moment Snape decided to join Dumbledore.


	14. Voldemort Feels Really Dumb Upon Finishi...

Voldemort Feels Really Dumb Upon Finishing the 5th Book

(AGAIN, SADLY BASED ON ACTUAL EVENTS)

(Does contain spoilers for OotP.  And a lot of ranting.)

            "Wait…" said Snape, "so the whole premise of the 5th book was Voldemort attempting to make Potter get a prophecy that really didn't tell him anything new?"

            "Apparently…" said Voldemort.

            "And why did you have to make Potter get it?"

            "I…I couldn't risk going to the Ministry and being seen…"

            "Well," said Lucius, "you didn't have to go during the day!  You could have gone at night.  You know, like you ended up doing!"

            "Yeah," added Snape, "besides, you managed to get twelve Death Eaters into the Ministry without causing an incident.  Why not one more?"

            "Look, guys," started Voldemort, "you don't understand.  My going to the Ministry could have only caused trouble.  I didn't want to risk it."

            "I smell a rationalization!" cried Lucius.

            "What's your real problem, Voldemort?" needled Snape.

            "I haven't got a problem!  I'm all-powerful!  I never have problems!" announced Voldemort.

            "LIAR!" shrieked Lucius and Snape.

            Voldemort sighed.  "It's…it's the spinning room," he admitted.

            "The spinning room?  In the Department of Mysteries?"

            "Don't laugh!" commanded Voldemort.  "Look, when I was really young, I went on this Tilt-A-Whirl, and I hurled all over the place.  Now whenever the room spins, I feel really sick.  I didn't want to break into the Ministry and then vomit all over the prophecy!"

            "How would it have mattered if you had?" demanded Snape.  "I mean, did you hear that prophecy?  One of you has to die.  Any wizard in Diagon Alley could have told you that.  You were planning on killing the Potter brat anyway.  How does this change your plans at all?"

            "What kind of useless weapon was that?  How could it have helped?" asked Lucius, getting indignant.  "If you had gotten that information, would it have instantly led to your conquering the world?"

            "Guys," said Voldemort, "I'm already feeling pretty dumb about this whole plot; don't make it worse.  I wasted all that time, invading Potter's mind, tricking him into believing I was torturing Sirius…"

            "And can I just say," interrupted Snape, "that Black had the lamest death of all time?  He fell through a freakin' arch!"

            "Never mind how annoying Bellatrix is!" added Lucius.  "Shut up, woman, and let me do the talking!"

            "Anyway," continued Voldemort, "I am pretty annoyed at my future self.  I should write this in my day planner so I can keep myself from making these dumb mistakes."

            "And," stormed the still-not-calmed-down Lucius, "what is up with the sealed room full of Love?  Is it the Love Shack?  Are they keeping the B-52s in there?"

            "'Folks lining up outside just to get down,'" sang Wormtail from the other room.


	15. The Death Eaters Go to the Beach

The Death Eaters Go to the Beach

            Voldemort slathered a sixth layer of SPF 100,000 suntan lotion over his ridiculously pale skin.  There was no way he was going to take any chances this year.  Last year, he had paid too much attention to Lucius's taunting.  "I come in two colors," Voldemort had explained, "Pasty and Boiled Lobster."  But Lucius had kept bothering him: throwing the Frisbee into the little tent Voldemort had brought; kicking sand into his egg salad sandwiches.  Voldemort had no idea Lucius could be so cruel.  So, he had finally come out of the shadows to join in a Death Eater touch football game.  BIG mistake.  His skin had been redder than his eyes for about a week after.  This year, Voldemort was taking every precaution.  Satisfied that he was painted an inch thick, Voldemort put on his floppy straw hat, and joined his Death Eaters on the beach.  

            "So," he called to his loyal minions, who were currently struggling to put up the volleyball net, "is everyone here?  I don't see Snape."

            "I think he's stealing a cooler from some people down the beach," said Lestrange, holding up his hand to shade his eyes as he peered down the stretch of sand.  He let go of the stake he was pounding into the sand to find his sunglasses.  The volleyball net bent precariously, pulled out of the ground, and promptly clonked Macnair in the head.

            "There's Snape," said Lestrange, once his sunglasses diminished the glare.  "And he's got lunch."

            Snape staggered toward the Death Eaters, carrying a giant red cooler, and looking extraordinarily pleased with himself.  "I bewitched a family of Muggles into thinking a cluster of washed up jellyfish was their cooler.  I do NOT want to be there when they decided to do lunch."

            "All right!" said Voldemort, "Let's eat.  Wormtail, stop building that sandcastle and get over here!"

            "'Sand pile' is more like it," hissed Dolohov.

            Wormtail stuck out his tongue and used a scallop shell to add some decoration to his, um, masterpiece.  "I'll be there as soon as I finish the moat," he called.  Just then, a larger than average wave rose up and rendered all discussion of Wormtail's castle a moot point.

            All the Death Eaters chortled merrily and set to work devouring the lunch the Muggle family had packed.  All except Lucius, who was staring at Snape with a look of disgust so apparent that Snape could help but feel he had grown a tail or something.

            "What?  Like you care if a couple of Muggles end up eating dead jellyfish."

            "It's not that," replied Lucius.  "Snape, you are the only person I know who wears a solid black shirt to the beach."

            "It's not solid black.  This is my Hawaiian shirt.  See?  The background is coal, half of the flowers are dusky gray, and the other half are pitch.  The adornments on the flowers are midnight."

            "A monochrome Hawaiian shirt?"

            "What?"

            "You have no sense of style, Snape," sneered Lucius, as he bit into a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich.

            After lunch, most of the Death Eaters worked at putting the volleyball net up.  When it was finally up (no thanks to Crabbe and/or Goyle), Bellatrix wanted to play a game, but most everyone else was too tired.  She and Narcissa started volleying the ball; they were warming up so they could effectively trounce the guys once they got off their rear ends.  

Wormtail went back to trying to build the most excellent sandcastle in Death Eater history.  He was likely to succeed, as his was technically the first sandcastle in Death Eater history.

"So," said Voldemort, lounging in the safety of his super-powered suntan lotion, "I think that we should raid the Bones family next Wednesday.  Is Wednesday good for everyone?"

"Good for me," said Snape, Lestrange, Macnair, and others.

"Ugh," said Crabbe and/or Goyle.

"Er…I'm going to take that as an affirmative," said Voldemort.

"Sorry," said Lucius, "but I'm meeting the Minister of Magic for a bribe session."

"Well," said Voldemort, "since that's Death Eater related, I won't punish you.  How about you Dolohov?  Are you going to risk my wrath?  Dolohov?  Are you even listening to me?"

"Hmmm?" said Dolohov, looking blankly at Voldemort.

"Well, Dolohov, it seems you have found something more interesting than your Dark Lord and Master.  Care to share with the class?" asked Voldemort through pursed non-existent lips.

Dolohov pointed at Bellatrix and Narcissa playing volleyball, and said with a stupid grin, "Death Eater or Alive Beach Volleyball."

Lestrange's eyes narrowed dangerously, but Lucius just frowned and asked innocently, "Huh?"

"I'll explain later.  Bellatrix!" called Lestrange.

"Yes, honey?"

            "Dolohov!  Kill!"

            Bellatrix grinned wickedly as Narcissa set the ball.  She watched it rise carefully, set her feet, and at the precise moment, WHAM!, spiked the ball directly into Dolohov's head.  He crashed backwards in his lawn chair and lay, dazed, on the sand.  "I assume I did that for a reason, honey?" Bellatrix asked.

            "He was making crude jokes," her husband replied.

            "He was?!" asked a suddenly angry Lucius.

            The ball, after having easily sent Dolohov sprawling, bounced off his head and flew through the air.

            "And a pretty seaweed flag for the keep," said Wormtail, smiling at his recently completed sandcastle.

            PFFT! The castle went up in a spray of sand and salt water as the ball landed smack in the courtyard.

            "Awwwww…"


	16. Voldemort is Thwarted by London Undergro...

Voldemort Is Thwarted by London Underground Ltd.

            A small man who probably would have fit in nicely at a Rodentia family reunion scuttled up the cold, grey path leading to the colonial split level.  Night was closing in, with a rippling of fog drifting across the well-manicured front lawn.  Maintaining appearances was quite important to the safety the Death Eaters.  However, it was not merely the clipped hedgerow and paved driveway with a faded basketball hoop in the turnaround that kept the curious away.  Voldemort's special wards would fry anyone who approached with less than a devious heart.  (Which was kinda inconvenient when the Death Eaters brought back prisoners for interrogation…but, anyway.)  But magic could be breached, so much more mundane methods were also employed at Death Eaters' International (read: only) Headquarters.

            The small man rapped briefly on the bright orange front door.  A painting mistake last fall had resulted in the hideous color, and while Voldemort kept declaring he would have it fixed, nothing had been done yet.  A hidden panel opened in the door, and a pair of steely eyes carefully measured the small man up.  "Password?" demanded a voice to match the eyes.

            "If Darkness is King, then Voldemort is God," the small man (Peter Pettigrew by name, and Wormtail by actions) replied.

            The door opened.  "I'm not even going to pretend I know what that means," said Snape as he shut the door behind Peter.

            "I have news for the Dark Lord," said Peter.

            "You and everyone else in the 80s.  Get in line behind Karkaroff."

            Two hours later, after ignoring Karkaroff's attempts to start a conversation and Lucius's attempt to get a sing-a-long going, Peter was allowed into the inner sanctuary of Voldemort.  He fell to his knees before the overstuffed chair with hideous upholstery that Voldemort insisted on doing all of his audiences from.  "Rise," hissed Voldemort, "You coming with news?"

            "Yes, my Lord.  I have received word from our real estate agent that Dumbledore has recently made a purchase in London.  She suspects it may be headquarters for their resistance movement."

            "The Order of the Phoenix…" whispered Voldemort.  "I shall have them soon."  Voldemort rose from his chair.  "Snape!" he called, "bring me a map of London."

            Snape entered the room, carrying a large map.  "Yeah, yeah."  Snape spread the map over a large table while Voldemort and Peter joined him.

            "What does our agent say about the purchase?" Voldemort snarled at Peter.

            "She says, and I quote, 'A charming four BB flat with two full/two half bath, breakfast nook.  Overlooks quaint former country road, now major thoroughfare.  Convenient to the Central Line.'  The address is on this spec sheet," finished Peter.

            Voldemort looked it over carefully.  "Very nice.  Dumbledore will have to redecorate, of course."

            "Of course."

            "So…" started Snape, "now that you know where they are, what are you going to do about it?"

            Voldemort frowned.  "We'll have to be careful.  We were too rash when we attacked their last hideout.  They managed to flee without casualties.  We shouldn't have Apparated in.  They will have some warning ward.  We'll have to come in through non-magical means."

            "We could take the Underground," suggested Peter, "It does say 'convenient to the Central Line.'"

            "I don't think so," said Snape.  "The Central Line is down."

            "What?" asked Voldemort, "Why?"

            "A train derailed, you know that."

            "But that was a month ago."

            "Yeah, but they're still running safety checks."

            "We could always take another line…"

            "It's not in Zone 1," interjected Peter.  "It's really on the other side of the city from us."

            "We could take a replacement bus," said Snape.

            "Oh yes, sure.  Let's take a bus down Oxford Street," said Voldemort.  "I'd like to raid the Order sometime this _decade_, Snape."

            "Fine!  Then wait!" cried Snape, throwing his hands over his head and leaving.

            "I will!" shouted Voldemort.  He crunched up the map with his left hand, while gesturing wildly with his right.  "Stupid Central Line."

(A/N: I wrote this a while ago, when I was studying in London.  The story behind it is this: The Central Line derailed and was down for about two months.  I had a class at the Tate Modern that would have been really easy to get to if I could have taken the Central Line.  But nooooooooo…  Stupid Central Line.  Oh, and if anyone ever tells you to get off at Southwark to go to the Tate Modern…Don't believe them.  It's a lie.)


	17. The Death Eaters Play Softball with the ...

The Death Eaters Play Softball With the Order of the Phoenix

(A/N: Remember, Snape works for the Order, but plays for the Death Eaters.  Peter works for the Death Eaters, but plays for the Order.)

            "Hey batter batter.  Hey batter batter.  NO BATTER BATTER!  Especially no evil, stinking, traitors to wizardkind batters!"

            "Alastor!" shouted Dumbledore from the Order of the Phoenix's bench, "Stop that!"

            Mad Eye Moody grumbled quietly behind his catcher's mask as Severus Snape approached the plate, carefully swinging his bat.  Snape wondered how in hell he had managed to get himself involved in this.  Ever since Voldemort had started the Death Eaters' softball team (sponsored by Knockturn Alley Supermarket: The Convenient Place to Fill All Your Dark Supply Needs), Snape had wondered whom exactly they were going to play against.  Stupidly, he had mentioned this to Dumbledore when reporting to the Order two months ago.  Dumbledore had thought it was a fabulous idea, quickly formed a team of his own, and challenged Voldemort to a game.  Snape rolled his eyes as he took a ready stance in the batter's box.  _Insanity_, he thought, _everywhere I go.  Oh well, at least I get dental in the Order._

            "I see a hole out there, I see a hole out there.  I see an H-O-L-E, hole out there," sang Lucius from the sidelines.

            "Hey, Snivellus.  How's it going?" sneered James Potter from the pitcher's mound.

            _Oh, wonderful, _thought Snape.  _Maybe I can hit him with a line drive._

            Snape was not going to get the chance, however.  James's first pitch was straight at Snape's head.  Snape jumped back a little, but the ball still smacked into his shoulder.  Snape rubbed the stinging red mark as James feigned concern, "Oh, sorry Snape.  Didn't see you there.  Guess you better take your base."

            Snape jogged to first base, glaring all the way, and trying to think of something particularly nasty to shoot back at Potter.  Lily Potter saved him the trouble, however.  "JAMES!  If you do that again, you will be sleeping on the couch!  You hear me?"  Every single word was perfectly clear to every person on the field, even though Lily was all the way in left field.

            "Busted…" said Sirius Black from shortstop.

            "Shut up," snapped James.

            Voldemort watched the Order bicker amongst themselves, smiling ever so slightly.  He was glad he and Dumbledore had agreed to be the coaches, and not players.  It was pretty difficult to catch a fly ball while wearing a Death Eater mask.

            "Bellatrix!"

            "Yes, my lord?"

            "You're up next.  Remember to try and hit the ball to Wormtail in right field.  I have instructed him to miss anything that comes his way."

            "Batter up!" shouted the umpire.

            "We want a single, just a little single.  S-I-N-G-L-E.  Single, single, single," sang Lucius lustily.

            Bellatrix Lestrange glided up to the plate, and positioned herself in the batter's box with the greatest of care.

            "Hey, Bellatrix!" shouted Emmeline Vance from second base, "Today, please!"

            "Patience, peons!" Bellatrix shouted back, "Do not rush an artist."

            "Yeah, Bella," said James, "I'll take it easy on you, since you're a girl."

            "Fool!  Such a thing will be your undoing!

            James grinned a little as he theatrically wound up the ball and pitched it, ever so gently, to Bellatrix.

            Big mistake.

            CRACK!  The ball took off like shot, straight over first baseman Sturgis Podmore's head, all the way back to Peter Pettigrew.  _Yes!_ thought Bellatrix as she raced toward first base, _I have served my master well!_

Peter watched the ball come toward him while Voldemort's voice echoed through his head.  _You must pretend to work for the Order, Wormtail.  But make sure you do not actually help them in any way.  Do not catch that ball or I will make you very sorry…_

            Meanwhile, Remus Lupin rushed toward Peter from center field, attempting to back him up.  "Back!  Back!  BACK!" he shouted.  Peter felt a rush of guilt about betraying his friends, and took several steps backward.

            _Wormtail…_warned the memory of Voldemort's voice.  "Further back!" shouted Lupin.

            Frankly, Voldemort really hadn't needed to warn Peter to drop the ball.  It wasn't like Pettigrew had good coordination, or any coordination whatsoever.  While mentally torn between betraying his best friends and the thought of getting the smackdown from Voldemort, the ball arrived in left field and conked him on the head.  Peter went down hard, still trying to figure out which side he really wanted to be on.

            "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" shouted Moody, throwing off his catcher's mask in anger.

            Lupin snatched up the ball and threw it to second, moments too late for Emmeline to tag out Bellatrix.

            "Home, Snape!" shouted Voldemort.  "HOME!"

            Snape wavered.  Since Peter was secretly working against the Order's team, Snape figured he should secretly work against the Death Eaters' team.

            "Gimme a 'S!'  Gimme a 'N!'  Gimme an 'A!'  Gimme a 'P!'  Gimme an 'E!'" shouted Lucius.  No one gave him anything.

            "What's that spell?" Lucius continued, unheeding.  "SNAPE!"

            _On the other hand_, Snape considered, _someone has to shut Lucius up._

(A/N:  Hooray!  This is the story I wrote for kingmaker, who correctly answered my question about "Beata Bellatrix" way back when.  It was a joke referring to a famous painting by Dante Gabriel Rossetti called "Beata Beatrix."  It is one of my favorite paintings, along with "The Annunciation," also by Rossetti.  If you go looking for the painting, you should know that "Beatrix" is the same woman who posed in Sir John Everett Millais's famous "Ophelia.")


	18. The Death Eaters Start a Band

(A/N: Warning: This very well may be the stupidest thing I've ever written.  You have been warned.)

The Death Eaters Start a Band

            "No, Rodolphus," said Bellatrix, rolling her eyes, "you can't join the band."

            "Why not?" demanded Lestrange, "You let Barty join!"

            "Barty has never been in one of these shorts before…"

            "Even Karkaroff has had a cameo," mumbled Crouch.

            "Besides," continued Bellatrix, "he can play the drums.  You can't."

            "I can play the bass," wheedled Lestrange.

            "I'm playing the bass, darling," said Bellatrix with flashing eyes.  "And don't give me any of that 'girls can't play bass' crap.  Now, beat it so we can practice."  Lestrange stormed out muttering something about not being willing to get dinner started on time that night.

            "If it makes you feel any better," shouted Voldemort after him, "your name wouldn't have fit on the bill anyway!"

            "Hey," said Lucius, wandering up to the stage where Bellatrix's argument with her husband had taken place, "speaking of instruments.  What do I get to play?"

            "Nothing," said Voldemort.  "You're just the pretty-boy front man to get women to come to our shows."

            "But, I want an instrument," complained Lucius.

            "Want my guitar?" asked Snape, coming from the backstage.  "I think I'm going to quit."

            "You can't quit," said Voldemort definitively.  "You're the only one who knows more than four chords."

            "Nice pants, Snape," snickered Bellatrix.

            "Shut up.  We are not going to mention my pants again."  Snape was wearing – "I said no talking about the pants!" shouted Snape.

            "I waaaaant an innnnnstruuuuuument," whined Lucius.

            "Fine," said Barty.  "Here.  Take this tambourine.  You'll be Grace Slick, and we'll be Jefferson Airplane."

            "So long as we're not Starship," muttered Snape.

            "Yay!" shouted Lucius.  "I love them!  'One pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small…'"  Barty sighed as Lucius wandered off, singing.

            "All right, now that we all have our instruments worked out," said Voldemort, "we need a name."

            "I'm telling you," said Snape, "we should just call ourselves The Death Eaters.  It's the perfect death metal band name."

            "But then everyone will know it's us!"

            "Voldemort," said Barty Crouch, "it's not like no one is going to know who you are.  You're a pretty…unique…guy."

            "I'm not going to perform," snapped Voldemort.  "I just write the songs.  Which reminds me, I brought two new ones to practice today.  They're called 'I Shall Subjugate the Earth' and 'Tapioca and Rye.'"

            "You know, Voldemort," said Bellatrix.  "We're going to need a ballad eventually."

            "What?  Why?"

            "I think it's required.  All heavy/death/punk metal bands have to release one sentimental ballad just for the hell of it.  That way, we'll get played on Top 40s radio stations.  Then, no one will ever hear from us again, and we'll end up on one of those 'One Hit Wonder' shows.  Or maybe get our own reality television show."

            "I am NOT writing a ballad," said Voldemort.

            "Well, we can do a cover then.  'Ordinary World' did pretty well."

            "Who do we cover?" asked Barty.

            "'Don't you want somebody to love?" sang/shouted Lucius, asking one of the most important questions ever.

            "…not that," said Snape.

            "Oh!  Oh!" cried Bellatrix, "We could do 'The Joker.'  Steve Miller's made a comeback."

            "What?" asked Voldemort.

            "Don't you know?" asked an astonished Bellatrix.  "'Some people call me the space cowboy…'"

            "Do you really think," said Snape, crossing his arms across his chest, "that I'm going to say that I'm called the gangster of love?"

            "You just did," put in Voldemort.

            "Dammit."

            "'Some people call me Maurice…'" picked up Barty.

            "Wah!  Wah!" sang Lucius.

            "'…'cause I speak of the pompatus of love,'" finished Crouch, getting down.

            "And what the hell is a pompatus?" asked Snape.

            "Uh…huh…" said Voldemort.  "Maybe we should do someone British?"

            "Like who?" asked Bellatrix.  "Morissey?"

            "No," came a collective answer.

            "Okay.  The Eurhythmics?"

            "Already done," said Barty.

            "The Rolling Stones?  'Satisfaction!'"

            "Britney Spears," said Snape.

            "How about Joan Jett and the Blackhearts?  'I Love Rock and Roll' is an old standard."

            "Also Britney Spears," said Snape.

            "Man…is there anything she hasn't ruined?"

            "We need some…disaffected 80s hit," mused Barty.

            "'Stay,'" said Bellatrix.  "Lisa Loeb.  Yes, it's the 90s, but that's the last one I'm coming up with.  I'm doing all the work here."

            "That'll do," said Voldemort.  "Now…are we finally ready to practice?"

            "Can't," said Barty, "I've already been gone too long.  Dad or Winky will start wondering."

            "I should go after Rodolphus before he gets hit by a bus," apologized Bellatrix.

            "I need to take these pants we're not discussing off," said Snape.

            "Fine, fine," grumbled Voldemort.  "We'll have one more practice before Saturday."

            "Hey," said Snape, as they walked out the door, "we didn't come up with band name, did we?"


	19. Voldemort Discovers the Intrinsic Unfair...

Voldemort Discovers the Intrinsic Unfairness of the Universe

            Voldemort entered the room quietly, not wishing to disturb his concentrating Death Eaters.  He had an important announcement to make, but he felt the need to observe his steadfast henchmen first.  He had been deep in meditation for days, and had been unable to give them proper instructions beforehand.  Voldemort wondered exactly what his men did when he wasn't around.

"Go fish," stated Lucius proudly to Lestrange across the table.

            "Lucius," sighed Snape, "we're playing gin rummy."

            "Oh," said Lucius, "gin, then."  Lucius lay out his cards on the table: three fives; the eight, seven and six of clubs; and the King, Queen, Jack and ten of hearts.  He had won.  Again.

            Voldemort frowned.  Maybe he needed to come out of his inner sanctum every once and a while.

            "That is just not fair," pouted Avery.

            "No one ever said life was fair," drawled Voldemort.

             Voldemort felt a little bit of boyish glee as Lucius, Lestrange and Avery jumped out of their chairs and made a desperate attempt to hide the playing cards.  He quickly tamped that emotion down however, as boyish glee is not appropriate for would-be despots.  

Snape sat still and waved his cards at Voldemort.  "Can we deal you in?"

"No thanks.  I only came out to tell you of my fantastic plan."

"Wow.  Already?"

"Yes.  After that debacle in the Ministry of Magic…you know, when twelve of you completely failed to kill a handful of teenagers and I had to bail you out of Azkaban?"  Lucius had the good common sense to blush.  "Uh-huh," continued Voldemort, "Anyway, I decided some good reconnaissance would be necessary before attempting to kill Potter again."

Snape stood up and stretched his arms over his head.  "All right," he said, "I'm going."

"Not you.  Me."

Snape goggled a bit.  "Don't you think that might be a little…obvious?"

"I'm not going personally, moron!  I'm going to invade Potter's head again."

"Oh man," said Avery, "Are you sure about that?  That's how we got into the whole breaking-into-the-Ministry situation in the first place."

"I'm not going to make him see things that aren't there this time," explained Voldemort.  "I'm just going to look through his eyes for awhile, without his knowledge."

"Like he always does to you?" asked Snape.

"Right.  Only, on purpose.  And without the ridiculous dramatics."

"How long is this going to take?" asked Lestrange.

"Not more than a few hours," replied Voldemort, "but I'll need complete silence out here.  So I want you all to play 'The Quiet Game.'"

"What?" came four voices in unison.

"Yes.  If any one of you talks, makes a noise or thinks about talking or making a noise, they will lose."

"And if we lose?" ventured Snape gingerly.

"I kill you."

"Sounds like fun," "Yes, let's start now," "I'm game," "Wait, I don't get it."

Voldemort smiled calmly as he shut the door to his inner sanctum behind him.  That should keep them out of his hair long enough to invade Potter's mind.  Voldemort settled down cross-legged on a comfy pillow before attempting to start.  _Okay,_ thought the Dark Lord, _now how the hell do I go about this?  I'm not attempting to control him so I can't use that spell again…_

Voldemort started with some chanting and some light yoga.  While it did loosen that crick he'd had in his back for the past 40 years, it didn't accomplish much else.

Next, he tried to visualize a white light around his body and a hole in the top of his head through which his soul could fly out of.  Then he remembered that Masters of Darkness very rarely have White Lights around them.

Then, he rang a sacred bell and…

Two hours and five attempts later, Voldemort was still in square one.  _Screw this,_ thought Voldemort, _I'll just take a nap and tell my Death Eaters I didn't find out anything important.  It's not like they'll complain…Well, maybe Snape._

Voldemort yawned as he closed his eyes.  It would be really nice to have a few hours of sleep while his incompetent lackeys stared at each other in complete silence in the other room.  As he drifted off, Voldemort smiled to himself.  Maybe he would teach them to play "Graveyard" next time.

He was flying through space and time.  Blue and white lights flashed at him from all directions.  Rod Sterling talked about giant mutant tarantulas.  A grandfather clock drifted past.  Somewhere, a rooster crowed.  Voldemort frowned.  _…the hell?,_ he thought.  _I haven't had a dream this trippy since the sixties._

Voldemort came to an abrupt stop in a void of darkness (as opposed to those voids of redness one is always coming across).  "Harry?" asked a voice from far away.

No way.  NO WAY.

"Harry?" demanded a female voice.  "Are you paying any attention whatsoever?"

Yes!  Yes!  Voldemort reveled in his triumph.  He had done it.  He was privy to Potter's every movement.  But…why couldn't he see anything?  Had there been an accident?  Had Potter gone blind?

"Hermione," Voldemort said (albeit in Harry's voice), "what's there to pay attention to?  Let me sleep."

Oh.  That was it.  Potter wasn't blind.  Voldemort was just looking at the back of his eyelids.

A sudden sharp jab in his arm brought Voldemort/Potter fully to his senses.  The world suddenly came into focus for Voldemort as he turned to the person sitting next to him with an "Ouch.  What'd you do that for?"  Voldemort attempted to glare at the bushy headed girl wielding a quill, but was dismayed to discover that it had no effect on her.  _I guess my Look of Imminent Destruction isn't as useful from a teenaged hero's body._

But on to business.  Now that Voldemort inhabited Potter's body, he needed to pay close attention to discover any vital information that could help the Death Eaters.  After all, every time Potter popped into Voldemort's body, he had gained some useful insight.

"Now, on page 712, we see that Moribund the Lesser was King of the Goblins from 1432 until 1451, when he was beheaded by Goblidy the Bloody-Minded in the Goblin War of 1300-1673," droned a voice.

_You've got to be kidding me_, thought Voldemort, _is that Professor Binns_?_  Man, he's as boring as when _I_ had him._

"I swear he teaches the same information every year," said Voldemort/Harry.

"No," said Hermione, "last year we learned about the Goblin Wars of 1123-1299."

"Whatever," said a male voice on Voldemort/Harry's other side, "it's all the same."  Voldemort turned to take in Ron for the first time.  "I'm just going to go back to sleep," continued Ron.  _ Is this Potter's second in command?_, thought Voldemort.

Voldemort/Harry grinned at Ron, and put his head back on the desk.  _No!  No!_, thought Voldemort, _You can't go back to sleep!  I haven't learned anything important yet!_

            "Goblidy the Bloody-Minded was King of the Goblins from 1451 until…" was the last thing Voldemort heard before he came to an abrupt awakening back in his room at the Death Eater Headquarters.

            "So Potter gets vital Death Eater plans, and I get Goblin Wars?" shouted Voldemort.  "That is SO not fair!"

(A/N: I realize that this is not "Once Upon a Freakin' Time" as much as it is "Whenever I Freakin' Feel Like It."  Sorry.)


	20. Voldemort Attempts to Revenge Himself on...

(A/N: Thanks to kingmaker, who originally gave me this idea.)

Voldemort Attempts to Revenge Himself on Sauron

            "Okay," said Voldemort, "everyone line up and get your ticket.  Snape.  Snape!  Get in line!"

            "I am not standing in line like a five year old.  Just give me the damn ticket," snapped Snape.  "I can't believe you're doing this anyway."

            Voldemort glared viciously at Snape.  Snape couldn't possibly understand the insult that had been offered to him.  This other Dark Lord, this Sauron character, had told him he was a second-rate villain.  This _giant eye_ had accused him of being an ineffectual evil just because he had lost to a child four…no, five times now.  AND, Sauron had burnt his couch to a crisp!  It was time for some revenge.  He started handing out tickets.  "We are going to see the movie, and that's that," said Voldemort.

            "I can't believe you spent all that money, money we all earned from the 5k race fundraiser, I might add, on tickets to a movie.  Just so you can watch the downfall of your rival," said Snape, crossing his arms.

            "He's thwarted by a Hobbit, Snape!  A Hobbit!  And I may have been defeated multiple times by a child, but Potter hasn't killed me yet!  And he may not!"

            "That's unlikely," said Lucius, taking his ticket.  "It is a children's book."

            "So is 'Who Killed Cock Robin,'" retorted Voldemort.

            Snape took a ticket and sighed.  There was no reasoning with Voldemort when he was in a mood.  Snape looked carefully at the ticket, frowning slightly.  "Hey," he said, "these tickets are for a theater in New Zealand."

            "Yes.  They're for the premier of the movie.  If everyone has their theater ticket, please line up for your magic carpet ticket," said Voldemort calmly.

            "You rented a magic carpet to take us to New Zealand!" shouted Snape.  "What's wrong with Apparating!"

            "We have to take a carpet because Sauron and his Nazgul will be at the premier.  We have to make a good impression.  Plus, it will make mocking him after the movie all the more fun."  Voldemort laughed his girly, high-pitched laugh.  "Man, I love being me."

* * * *

            After the premier of "Lord of the Rings: Return of the King," Voldemort sashayed out of the cinema, looking infinitely pleased with himself.  His Death Eaters had caused quite a stir when they had disembarked from their magic carpet, dressed entirely in black, their masks newly polished.  Yes, the Death Eaters had looked much more impressive than the Nazgul, with their inferior numbers, shabby black cloaks, and weird, nail-accessorized ponies.  Now, the Death Eaters flanked him in classic diamond formation, parting the crowd, and making everyone aware that there was still a Dark Lord who had not been taken down.  Now all that was left was for Voldemort to "congratulate" Sauron on his theatrical triumph.  Voldemort smiled, faux-graciously, at the giant, flaming, lidless eye that was chatting, via the Mouth, to Saruman, who was whining about being cut out of the third movie.

            "Why, Sauron," simpered Voldemort, "how wonderful to see you again."

            Saruon merely glared as the Mouth stepped forward, "Why Voldemort," he said, "how did you ever get all the way to New Zealand?  I thought you were having money troubles after the temporary tattoo scandal?"

            Voldemort gritted his teeth, and hissed, "Oh no, it was no trouble to see one of my old friends in his hour of glory."

            "Well, I'm glad you came out," said the Mouth through equally clenched teeth.  "I'm sure it was a useful vision of your future."

            "Yes, I shall be glad to learn from your…errors in calculation."

            "I suppose you might actually be able to avoid letting that wretched child interfere with your next plan-of-the-year."

            "Oh," said Voldemort, "I suppose you heard I got a majority of my Death Eaters back.  The Daily Prophet had quite a spread on it.  I'm sure you must have seen it; it was carried by a number of prominent magic newspapers.  I think I gained quite a few new euphemisms this year as well."

            "Yes, congratulations.  I'm sure you've created quite an…army, I suppose you would call it?"

            "I'm not trying to conquer, you know.  Very 15th century.  I'd rather terrorize them into cooperation."

            "Well," said the Mouth, as the Eye of Sauron flamed with the intensity of a thousand suns, "My Lord and Mr. Saruman here are late for an after-party with the Horned King.  I'm sure you understand."

            "Of course," said Voldemort smoothly, "be sure to stop by for another little chat."

            "Whatever you say," smiled the Mouth, as he followed the imperiously dilated Eye, "…Lord Thingy."

            "DAMMIT!" shouted Voldemort.


	21. Lucius Malfoy Doesn't Even Know Where to...

**Lucius Malfoy Doesn't Even Know Where to Begin**

Voldemort surveyed the remains of his backyard with shock and chagrin. He had only gone out for forty-five minutes to pick up a new potion from Snape guaranteed to melt through solid objects. If he recalled correctly, Snape called it "sulfuric acid." Voldemort was continually amazed at the resourcefulness and invented mind of his Potions Master.

But, never mind all that. The point was that Voldemort had not left the house for very long. Certainly not long enough to come back finding his backyard looking like _this_.

Shattered deckchairs strewn across the strip of grass that made up the back half of the yard. More deckchairs than the Dark Lord would have sworn the Death Eaters owned. Especially considering they didn't have a deck. What looked like the remains of the gazebo half sticking out of the earth where the rock garden should have been. The cypress tree Voldemort had been cultivating looking like it had been splinched with an American chestnut. Numerous empty butterbeer bottles. Gloria, his Death Eaters were lightweights. Not the least evidence of which were the scattered unconscious bodies of at least seven of his Death Eaters.

"Oh, hello, My Lord," said Lucius coming out of the anterior dining room, munching on a ham sandwich. "Have you been home long?"

"Lucius...the yard. My gazebo. The rock garden. What the hell happened here?"

"Oh. My. God. You would not believe what went on this afternoon. I mean, Travers was probably right to move the Ping-Pong table into the backyard so we didn't ruin the family room."

"Ping-Pong table?"

"Right, I should explain that first. Well, Rookwood and Barty...Barty is such a kidder. Did you know he could juggle too? He also does this great act with balloon animals. No clue where he learned all that. Do you know?"

"...What did Rookwood and Crouch do?"

"Well, they had been looking all last week for a Ping-Pong table because we heard the Order of the Phoenix had gotten a pool table. They were originally going to put it in the half-finished rec-room, next to the last cell, but the chick Karkaroff brought with him..."

"What chick?"

"The one who created the whirlwind."

"WHIRLWIND?!"

"Well, we needed something to put out the fire."

Voldemort stared at Lucius in disbelief. "What was on fire?"

"Your cypress. It started with the cookies, of course. I told them they had been in the oven too long. I had the most cooking experience, but would they listen to me? Noooooo. They had to do their own thing, and look where it got them." Lucius gestured at the backyard.

"You mean, all of this..." Voldemort gestured half-heartedly along with Lucius, "...is because of cookies?"

"Not really. You see..." Lucius trailed off as Voldemort groaned. "Oh, I'll make this quick. What happened before the cookies? Was it the Crabbe and the cannonball or was it Bellatrix transfiguring Dolohov into a badger...?"

Lucius pondered with his hands on his hips, tapping his foot. "It's really all so complicated. I don't even know where to begin," he sighed sadly.

Voldemort sat on the remains of a deckchair and put his head between his knees.


	22. Lord Voldemort Finds the Woman of His Dr...

(Author's Note: for The Marty. She knows why.)

**Lord Voldemort Finds the Woman of His Dreams**

"I have found her!" shouted Lord Voldemort, bursting into the waiting room where Lucius, Snape and Wormtail were hanging around playing darts on a board made up with Dumbledore's face.

"Found who?" asked Wormtail.

"The perfect woman!" cried Voldemort, handing out cigars and casually neglecting to light them.

"Narcissa?" asked Lucius. "Oh, she's been found for years."

"No, the perfect woman for me. A Dark Queen to rule the night at my side and terrorize the forces of good to madness! An evil goddess to be my helpmate in all the awful, nasty things I do. Every evil overlord has to have a Dark Queen, right?"

"If you want to be horribly cliché, sure," said Snape.

"So," said Voldemort, "I have finally found her!"

"Where'd you meet her?" asked Snape, "I can't imagine you found the epitome of female evil walking down the dairy aisle of the Sainsbury Local."

"No, I did not," snapped Voldemort. "Which reminds me, Lucius. Here's the Cadbury Eggs you asked me to buy."

"All right!"

"I haven't exactly met her yet," said Voldemort, peeling the chocolate wrappers off for Lucius, who usually had trouble with such things.

"You haven't met her?" asked Wormtail, "Then how do you know she's right for you?"

"She seems very evil," said Voldemort. "I was watching 'Hardball' on television last night, and she was one of the guests. You should have seen her defend her indefensible position! She ranted and raved, and if anyone attempted to say something opposing to her view, she shut them down with a well placed insult!"

"You want a politician to be your Dark Queen?" asked Snape, raising an eyebrow.

"Not a politician. They're not evil enough. I want a talking head to rule at my side. Who would dare disagree with me? She would yell them down in seconds."

"Ish thee riigh?" asked Lucius, his mouth full of chocolate and fondant goodness.

"What?" asked Voldemort. "Lucius, swallow before you talk."

"Is she right?" asked Lucius again. "If she's right, you wouldn't be able to be with her because you're evil and therefore inherently wrong."

"In her opinions? Who cares?" asked Voldemort. "She is a natural divider. She wrote these books...you should see the titles. Pure disrespect for any opinion not her own, and willing to use underhanded tactics to convince the unknowing she's right. She naturally assumes that people are so dumb, they'll never fact check anything. We're perfect for each other."

"Wait, wait, wait!" said Wormtail. "Not...HER."

"Yes, HER! My soon-to-be-Evil-Queen. She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! I will find her, sweep her off her feet, and together, we will make my politics the only politics!"

"But will she agree with you?" asked Snape. "Provided, of course, that you actually can meet this woman you saw on the television, you then have to convince her that you are right and everything she's known up until that point is wrong. And from what you've said about her, I think you'd only get yelled at."

"Plus," added Lucius, "I think she's a man."

Voldemort, Snape and Wormtail just stared at him. "What?" asked Lucius. "She is!"


	23. Peter Pettigrew Gets His Own Chapter

**Peter Pettigrew Gets His Own Chapter**

It wasn't that Peter particularly liked his rat form. It was just that it was the only way he could get away from Snape's incessant sarcasm ("I hate you all."), Voldemort's outrageous demands ("Arrange the Death Eater roll alphabetically. Ascending!"), and Lucius's attempts to find him a robe that flattered his complexion ("Maybe yellow?").

Plus, he had friends in this form (and a tail, which was awesome, but not really relevant to the context of this story).

Well, maybe not _real_ friends, but close enough. Closer than he'd had in, oh, many, many years. Friends that listened to his problems, didn't interrupt, and always offered him peanut butter on a cracker.

The two rats had offered him carrion the first time he had visited, and though he understood proper rat nutrition (one did not become an Animagus without doing at least _some_ research), Peter was still human enough to feel extremely grossed out by the offer.

Luckily, his refusal had not put a damper on their relationship.

"It's just…" started Peter, between small sobs, "I don't think he really appreciates me. I mean, I know Dark Lords are supposed to be cold and forbidding, but the occasional positive feedback really goes a long way toward maintaining employee morale."

The first rat squeaked in sympathy.

"I'd do just about anything for him, I really would. Mostly because he would kill me without a second thought, but at least the feeling is real!"

The second rat twitched its tail, and offered Peter more peanut butter.

"Oh, no, thank you. I really appreciate you guys listening to me. Lucius isn't so bad, but I don't think he listens to a word I say. Not unless Narcissa or Snape is there, telling him to focus every minute or so."

The first rat scratched thoughtfully at a flea, and offered a long string of squeaks and chirps that was probably advice, except that Peter (despite his research) had only studied a few years worth of Rat, and was dreadfully out of practice besides, and thus did not understand a word that was said.

"I…I'm sure you're right," said Peter, not wanting to be impolite.

The second rat wiggled its nose in counterpoint. The second rat, though very kind to Peter, rarely had anything to add to the conversation.

Peter continued, hoping he and the rats were still having the same conversation, "I'm sorry I keep complaining to you about this, but I don't know where else to turn. I was thinking about running away, but again, there's the whole 'Voldemort will kill me' problem. Snape keeps telling me I could turn traitor. Again. I hate it when he says things like that. It just reminds me of…well, never mind. You don't need to hear that story again. Look, I'm sorry I keep bothering you. I'll just go. Thanks for the peanut butter."

Feeling a little awkward about getting emotional in front of nearly complete strangers (he didn't even know there names!), Peter scurried off to face Voldemort, who probably hadn't even noticed Peter had gone, and if he had, probably would demand that Peter open the pickle jar for him.

The moment Peter had turned back into a human, the first rat said, "I say, Francine. What on earth was that all about?"

"I don't honestly know, Andrew," replied the other. "But I certainly wouldn't be rude enough to turn him away."


	24. Lord Voldemort Builds a Better Mousetrap

**Lord Voldemort Builds a Better Mousetrap**

Snape was slightly concerned.

It was bad enough that Lord Voldemort had activated the Dark Mark during a Potions class, causing him to accidentally fudge up instructions for a Cardiac Calming potion ("Add one part thorn apple to two parts…AAAAHHHH…rugula. Now grind thoroughly with your mortar and pestle.") Luckily, though his ad-lib had not created a potion designed to lower the heart rate, it hadn't created anything dangerous either. Just a delicious, if somewhat hallucinogenic, soup.

No, the worst part was that Snape was now standing on Main Street Hogsmeade with several other Death Eaters, listening to Voldemort outline his latest plan for capturing Harry Potter.

"It's very complicated," he was saying. "You all have to pay close attention."

Snape was having difficult doing just that, as he was also aware of something even worse. This was one of the evenings that the Hogwarts students were allowed to come into Hogsmeade.

This was going to end badly.

"I'm dividing you into two groups," said Voldmort. "The first group, consisting of Dolohov, Crabbe, Goyle and Wormtail, will remain on Main Street. The second group, including Snape, Lucius, Nott and Bellatrix, will come with me around the corner of Eadwacer the Handy Street. There will be a set of pre-arranged signals, which I will explain now. First, Dolohov will be on top of this building here, which is the Local 99 for the Magical Agricultural Union, who are currently on strike over importing regulations passed by the MEU. That's why they're not here, and that's why Dolohov will be sitting on the far west side of the roof. When Dolohov sees young Mr. Potter coming down the street, he will place a marble in the gutter, and give it a push. When it exits the gutter on the east side…"

"Wait, we're wizards," said Dolohov. "Do we even have gutters?"

"I don't see why not," said Voldemort. "It still rains on wizards. I suppose we could have come up with a water repelling spell that sends water a certain distance away from the foundations of our homes, but why bother when a curved piece of housing does the job so well?"

"I don't know," answered Dolohov. "We do lots of useless things with magic."

"Regardless," continued Voldemort, "when the marble runs out of the gutter, which I assure you exists, it will jostle a plane of wood which is attached to a glass on a platform ten feet in the air. When the glass is toppled, it will spill its contents into another glass below it, which will spill into another glass below that. This will give Potter time to get closer."

"How long did it take you to set this up?" wondered Snape aloud.

"When the last glass is filled, it will spill onto Goyle's head, which will be the signal for him and Crabbe to start turning the crank, which I have already set into the front of the building. It will only look like they're winding up the clock in the frontpiece."

"What does the crank do?" asked Nott.

"Nothing," replied Voldemort. "It's just the signal for Wormtail to turn into a rat and run around the corner to the other group of Death Eaters, causing Lucius to squeal and run like a little girl…"

"Hey!" cried Lucius.

"…And Potter, being the adolescent hero that he is, will rush around the corner to see what's wrong. And when he does that…"

"We hex the heck out of him?" asked Bellatrix.

"No!" said Voldemort. "There's more! When Potter comes around the corner, he will step on this cobblestone here, which is unstable, and will cause him to trip. He will likely lose his glasses, and as we all know, people who lose their glass immediately drop to the ground and search for them on their hands and knees. Now, low to the ground, I have strung multiple threads, which are attached to bells on the roof of the adjacent building."

"Uh, if I'm running," started Lucius, "won't I trip on those?"

"No, Lucius. You're going to be on the other side of the threads. While Potter searches for his glasses, he will trip those bells, which the second group of Death Eaters will hear. This will be their signal to drop this giant fishing net on the boy. Everyone got all that?"

The Death Eaters just stared blankly at Voldemort.

"All right, then," said Voldemort, clapping his hands briskly, "places everyone. We must be prepared."

"This is going to end badly," said Snape, echoing his earlier sentiment. But, like everyone else, he took his position.

Just then, Harry Potter came down Main Street, all by his lonesome. Dolohov, quickly dropped the marble into the gutter, and then flicked it to get it to roll. Sadly, as the building was flat, it only rolled a few feet before friction caused it slow down and stop. "Roll, damn you! Roll!" hissed Dolohov, giving it a few more flicks.

"Aw, screw it," he finally decided, and picked up the marble, ran to the east side of the building and dropped it in the downspout.

The marble did hit the wooden board, but instead of just jostling the glass set ten feet up, it knocked it completely out of the air. The glass dropped squarely on Goyle's head, which probably hurt. Luckily, by this point, Goyle had completely forgotten what Voldemort had told him, and took his bludgeoning as the signal. With Crabbe's help, they started to turn the crank.

Wormtail, who hadn't been paying attention to Crabbe and Goyle very much, had not noticed that his signal had come a little early, as there had not been the delay with the glasses filling. Wormtail simply turned into a rat, and ran around the corner toward Lucius.

"I will not squeal," said Lucius to himself. "I will not squeal. I will not…AAAAHHHH!" And off he went.

Unfortunately, while Voldemort had had the foresight to put Lucius on the other side of his thread trap, he had not thought of Wormtail. Even though he was relatively small as a rat, Wormtail quickly became entangled in the threads, setting of the bells on the roof.

And although Harry Potter was not nearly as close as he should have been, his remarkably good ears (or perhaps just Lucius's volume) allowed him to hear what sounded like a cry for help. He quickly drew his wand (because though he was mistaken about just about everything else, Voldemort had gotten this part right) and ran past the two men, cranking with all their might, and around the corner of Eadwacer the Handy Street. As predicted, he stepped on the loose stone. But instead of tripping, he just stumbled a little and recovered himself. Looking down, he discovered the morass of thread on the ground, which had apparently already ensnared some poor rat. "That looks like a mess," he said, slowly backing out of the street. Just then a net dropped over the rat right in front of him.

Harry Potter, now entirely confused, put away his wand, and wandered home to tell Ron and Hermione that there was something weird going on at the corner of Main and Eadwacer the Handy Streets.

"Well," said Voldemort, "that didn't go quite as planned."

Snape slowly shook his head. "Don't you have magic?" he asked.

(A/N: Alternate title: **Lord Voldemort Utterly Fails to Build a Better Mousetrap**.)


	25. Severus Snape Is Fashionable

WARNING: If you're looking to avoid any and all speculation as to what happens in the upcoming Harry Potter book, read no further. There are no spoilers, as I myself know next to nothing about the book.

**Severus Snape Is Fashionable**

A long shadow had fallen.

Grey clouds hung heavy over a dark robed man winding his way down the road toward a charming split-level colonial. The man watched the ground sweep by beneath him, unwilling to look around at a world that seemed that much emptier of light and hope. Silence reigned over all living creatures, from the man to the sparrows on the fence posts, to the dogs cowering in their kennels. It seemed to be the lull before the end of the world.

For Albus Dumbledore was dead.

It had been sudden. It had been accidental. Of course it had. There was no other way that a wizard as powerful as Dumbledore could fall to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

The raid had happened at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place not in the dead of night, but at seven in the evening. The members of the Order of Phoenix had been enjoying light after-dinner conversation when the Death Eaters came. Bellatrix Lestrange had finally put two and two together, and had figured out the only place from which Kreacher could have run to Narcissa Malfoy. And being family, she had already known the whereabouts of Black family residence. It took little effort on Voldemort's part to break a few of the spells surrounding the house.

Voldemort had gone personally to oversee the operation, as the last time he had sent the Death Eaters out on their own, they had ended up in Azkaban. He had not been expecting the pleasant surprise of Dumbledore at the Order's headquarters.

The man in the dark robes knocked on the door of the charming split-level colonial. A hidden panel opened; the man on the other side waited for the password.

"If Darkness is blah, blah, blah…open the door, Lucius," said Snape, anxious to go inside and get this over with.

Lucius, who was used to Snape's habit of never finishing the password, opened the door. "How was the funeral?"

"Dreary. How do you expect funerals to be?" Snape snapped.

"The Dark Lord is waiting for you. Do you have information on where Potter is being kept now?"

"Yes, but it makes no difference. They'll all die before letting us get our hands on him."

"Well then, that might take some time. Lemon poppy seed muffin? Made them myself."

"No. I need to change."

Lucius put down a plate of delicious lemon poppy seed muffins and cocked his head at Snape. "You're already wearing black. In fact, that's all you ever wear."

Snape shot Lucius a scathing look. "This is my good robe, Lucius. Not my 'grovel on the ground before the Dark Lord and probably rip the hem' robe."

"It looks the same."

"The collar is slightly higher on this one."

"Ah," said Lucius, understanding dawning upon him. "I see. Very vogue."

Snape went to the hall closet, and pulled out a black robe. "Good thing I keep this here. I'll just go change in the bathroom."

In the quiet moment or two that passed, Lucius carefully rearranged the muffins on the plate. After the meeting, the other Death Eaters would certainly be hungry. The peace was broken a moment later—

"Lucius!" came Snape's voice from behind the door.

"What is it?" Lucius asked.

"My robe is stuck, and I can't see. Come in here and give me a hand."

"No way!" cried Lucius. "You're changing in there."

"Lucius, I'm wearing trousers and a shirt. I just need you to pull this snag! Don't be a wuss about it."

Lucius gathered his courage and opened the bathroom door. As advertised, Snape was standing by the sink, tangled in his robes. One arm stuck out of the top, snagged on something at his wrist. Snape's head appeared to have gotten jammed in the other sleeve where he couldn't see, and the length of the robe made it difficult for the man to reach up to where his other arm was caught. "Well," said Snape. "Don't just stand there."

Lucius examined the snag. "Snape, are you wearing a bracelet? Because that is a hideous shade of yellow right there."

"Yes, it's a bracelet. I got it at the funeral. Hagrid was handing them out."

"Do people usually get jewelry at funerals these days?"

"No, Lucius. It's because it was Dumbledore. Would you just fix my robe, please?"

"Hey, it's got writing on it. 'WWDD.' What does that stand for?"

"Never you mind. Just…"

"Well, stop struggling for a moment!"

"You're pulling down too hard, Lucius."

"It's thoroughly caught. Maybe if I took it off."

"NO! You'll--"

RIIIIIIIIIIP!

Pulling up ripped the seams at the shoulder where Snape's head was caught. "All right," said Snape, pulling off the remains of the robe. "I'll just wear what I came in."

"There is little to stand in our way now," said Voldemort triumphantly to his Death Eaters. "With Dumbledore gone, there is no one left to protect the boy. Severus, you said you have information to share?"

"Yes, my Lord," Snape replied. He pulled a rolled sheet of parchment from his inner-robe pocket, and spread it out on the table before Voldemort. "As you can see--"

He was interrupted sharply by Voldemort. "Severus, what on earth are you wearing? Is that a bright yellow…bracelet?"

Snape cursed silently to himself. He really did not want explain this right now. "It's the latest fashion," Snape improvised. "Everyone's wearing them." Which was technically true.

"You know," said Voldemort, "I would have never taken you for a fashion plate, Severus. But I have to say, I do like that high collar on your robe."

(Author's Note: Thanks to the Marty and her mother, who first made the joke about the bracelet.)


	26. Lord Voldemort Does NOT Pay Retail

**Lord Voldemort Does NOT Pay Retail**

If there was one thing Muggles might be better at doing than wizards (_might, _mind you), it might be the lighting of their consumer establishments. Or so Snape mused. It had been a very long time since he had shopped at a Muggle store, but he figured the lighting could not possibly be worse than at Knockturn Alley Supermarket.

"Look at these prices," said a disgusted Dark Lord Voldemort, Bringer-Home-of-the-Bacon. "Three sickles for horn of dragon toad. Maybe when they didn't have dragon toad farms, that was a reasonable price. But considering the volume they can create now…" Voldemort snorted. "Gouging the consumer, plain and simple."

"Are we buying cereals? I'm sick of Bellatrix's Bland Flakes," asked Lucius.

"Yes, but you have to pick out something everyone will like," replied Snape, carefully looking over the selection of jujube berries for freshness and magical quality.

"Cheerios always work," said Lucius.

"Low sodium Cheerios," interjected Voldemort. "I have to watch my blood pressure."

"I think choosing a lower-stress career would do more for your blood pressure than low sodium Cheerios," replied Lucius. "But it's your coronary artery. I wasn't even aware you had a heart."

"Lucius!" said Snape. "What a thing to say to someone who could blast you through the roof."

"No, that's fair," said Voldemort. "While I am lacking in the metaphorical heart that would require me to care about, well, anything really, I still have a physical heart that pumps blood. Due to my recent bout of high blood pressure, however, I am currently researching Dark Magic that might allow me to dispense with the whole heart thing altogether."

"Is that safe?" asked Lucius.

"As safe as anything else I've ever tried. I'm still here, aren't I?"

Snape, who cared little for discussions of medical problems, turned back to his produce. "Oh, for mercy's-- I can barely see what I'm buying! _Lumos_!"

"Excuse me," cried a cracked, hesitant voice over Snape's shoulder. Snape turned to find a short, teenaged boy wearing a heavily stained smock coming over from the other side of the store. It was the first time Snape had ever seen a young wizard run _toward _him. "Sir? You're not allowed to do magic in the store."

Snape leveled a careful gaze at the young man. "I'm sorry. Did you just say we're not allowed to do magic in a wizarding store?"

"Well, sir, it's just that some of our products are highly sensitive to magic and might react if--"

"I used a spell to create enough light to see, which wouldn't be a problem if you store was adequately lit in the first place. Are these vegetables photosensitive?"

"Are they what?"

"Photo. Sensitive. Abnormally sensitive to light. Will these garden variety…" Snape took a quick look to see what he was standing next to. "…pomegranates explode all over Knockturn Alley if I expose them to light generated from a simple _Lumos_ spell?"

"Well," replied the poor young clerk, who probably hadn't done anything to deserve this, "no. But it's the principle of the thing--"

"Principle!" interrupted Voldemort. "You're talking to me about principle?"

"Uh," said the young man, pointing to Snape, "actually I was talking to him about principle."

Voldemort probably didn't hear this, and even if he did, he didn't care. "You stand here surrounded by your 10 Sickle snowdrop buds and 7 Galleon Amla fruits – really, does it cost that much to import them from India? – and lecture me about principle!"

"Isn't it kind of hypocritical for any of us to be talking about principles at all?" asked Lucius to no one in particular.

"In my day," plowed on Voldemort, "we charged fair prices for commonly needed goods and only overcharged on luxury items bought by foolish old biddies who didn't know a Back Breaking Crack Curse from Spine Snapping Line Curse. We took pride in our Quasi-Ethical Evil because we knew fair prices would spread the power of the Dark Arts more quickly through the subterranean subcultures of the wizarding world! This establishment, on the other hand, does nothing but slow the growth of evil and delay my inevitable conquest of the Ministry and its allies!"

"This is going to end badly, isn't it?" squeaked the supermarket clerk.

"Yes," replied Lucius and Snape simultaneously.

"Sooo," continued Voldemort, pulling out his wand, "we're not allowed to do magic here, are we?"

Twenty minutes and a glorious explosion later, Voldemort, Lucius and Snape were preparing to Apparate out of Knockturn Alley, without Lucius's boxes of Cheerios. Voldemort was still flicking little pieces of glass and mandrake root off of his robes, but on the whole, looked entirely pleased with himself.

"They were one of our sponsors," said Snape.

"We'll find another," replied Voldemort. "Right now, let's hunt down some wholesalers. They'll need someone to do business with now that Knockturn Alley Supermarket is having financial difficulties."


	27. Lord Voldemort Gets Something That Belon

**Lord Voldemort Gets Something That Belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw**

"Ah, here we are," said a wizened old wizard wearing a pince-nez and blatantly abusing my "w" and "z" keys. "The last remaining relic of Rowena Ravenclaw is this bound pamphlet, Mr. Riddle. The glass case is to protect it from dust, of course, but we have many charms to protect it from, shall we say, other detrimental elements."

Tom Riddle fancied himself a patient man, but his fingers still twitched eagerly. He was so close to obtaining his next Horcrux. It was just a matter of getting around a few more obstacles. "It is quite amazing that this book should survive so long," he said to distract the man further.

"Oh, yes. Now, our esteemed Hogwarts Founder never had any children of her own, mind you. Quite busy with her studies, you see. Some scholars suspect she might have just plain forgotten to have a family. Her sister Larch, however, was quite prolific. Yes, yes. This only remaining copy of Ravenclaw's seminal work on magical education standards has been passed down from generation to generation. We received it only a year ago, when the family decided such a thing should be on view for posterity." The elderly wizard puffed up slightly at the chance to display his wisdom.

"Perfect," whispered Riddle, unconsciously reaching for the glass case.

"Now, I can't let you touch it, my boy. Would do more damage to you than to the book."

"I must say," said Riddle, turning to the other man, "you are the most competent keeper of a Founder's artifact I have yet to meet."

"Why, thank you!" replied the man, genuinely pleased. "That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

"Pity you won't remember it, then," replied Riddle. "_Obliviate_!"

As the poor man hit the floor, Riddle cast several counter-spells, nullifying the book's protection. No matter how much the man had tried, there really was no one who could stop Lord Voldemort when he was determined.

Riddle reverently lifted the leather bound book from its glass case. "Brilliant Ravenclaw," he whispered. "How farsighted you were." He carefully opened the book and fingered the yellowing pages filled with carefully copied text. "The fool should be out for a while. Perhaps there is time for me to see what wisdom you have imparted to the ages."

MANY YEARS LATER

The Hogsmeade Wizarding Library contains the largest collection of public magical texts in Britain. With 117 million items, it far outstrips both the London Magical Collection and the Edinburgh Library of Magic. Worldwide, only the Bavarian Zauberbibliothek and the Chinese Han Hsiang-Tzu Memorial Library house more volumes. Hogsmeade Librarians require two years of training, followed by another year of hands-on apprenticeship before they are allowed to roam the hallowed hall on their own. Every wizard in Britain learns from an early age to hold the Library in the highest regard.

Or, almost every wizard.

On this particular night, someone was defiling the sanctity of the Library: shouting in the stacks, throwing around books, and hauling the ladders around in a desperately undignified manner. The Librarians, had they been there, would have died of heart attacks.

Nagini, Snake Extraordinaire, slithered low to the ground, avoiding the books Lord Voldemort was dropping to the ground from his perch high on a Library ladder.

"It isn't here, Nagini," hissed the Dark Lord of Mistreating Texts in Parseltongue. "Move me down some."

Nagini wound her way around the base of the ladder, near the rolling wheels, and gently pulled it along the row. "Yes, Master. Are you sure…?"

"Yes, I'm sure," replied Voldemort, eyeing the spines of the works in front of him. "I brought that miserable book here ten years ago. I figured it would be safe in these immense piles of books."

"Very safe, My Lord," hissed Nagini, "if even you cannot find it. I doubt anyone else could either."

"I am not giving up, if that's what you're thinking, Nagini," snapped Voldemort. "That book contains a piece of my soul and six hours of my life…"

"…that you will never see again," finished Nagini, who had heard this before.

"I don't care if this is the largest collection of magical books in Britain," muttered Voldemort to himself. "I don't care if it is delicious irony that I am hiding my Horcrux right under Dumbledore's crooked nose. That is irony, right?"

"There is probably a dictionary around here somewhere if you would like to check, Master. But it is nearly dawn. Please, let us be on our way; else we will be caught."

Voldemort leapt down the ladder and glowered at Nagini. "All right. But I will return for it someday."

"Yes, My Lord," said Nagini. "I am certain you will." And then in an undertone, "Presuming you ever find it again."


	28. The Death Eaters Dig Costume Parties

**The Death Eaters Dig Costume Parties**

Voldemort lined Crabbe and Goyle up before him and said in his most serious voice, "I want you two to stand guard over the punch bowl. Dolohov is likely to try and spike it with alcohol like he did last year. We certainly don't need a repeat of last year's tragic limbo accident. If he comes too close, growl at him and send him on his way. Remember, Dolohov is a tricky one. Keep your eyes open for any suspicious behavior on his part and others. He might Imperius someone into doing it for him. And for Hell's sake, don't eat any floating food!"

Crabbe and Goyle grunted in what might have been agreement. "Good," said Voldemort. "Nice matching rock costumes, by the way."

Voldemort, satisfied that he had done as much as possible to prevent imminent disaster (trying to stop Dolohov was like trying to prevent Christmas, which Lord Voldemort could tell you was pretty damn impossible), turned to see if Wormtail and Nott were setting up folding chairs and card tables so people could sit and eat. He straightened his high collar, made sure his plastic fangs were secure and swept across what would be used as a dance floor later that evening.

"Is Snape back with the sacrificial altar yet?" Voldemort asked of Wormtail, who was dressed as a cat.

"Yes, My Lord," replied Wormtail. "He's having it set up on the platform. Oh, there he is now."

Voldemort turned to Snape saying, "Ah, good. You're back already. Did you get a good deal on – oh."

Snape was stopped directly behind him, looking chagrined. "You came as a vampire too?" he asked Voldemort.

"Well," said the Dark Lord, "I already have the ultra-pale skin and the glowing red eyes. It seemed kind of obvious." They both stared at each other for a moment. Snape twitched his long black cape nervously.

"I'm sorry, My Lord. Everyone keeps saying I look like a vampire, so I--"

"It doesn't matter," interrupted Voldemort. "Really, half the Death Eaters will probably come as vampires. Anyway, I'm glad you got that altar ready."

"About the decorations--" started Snape.

"Oh, Lucius has arrived," said Voldemort, catching sight of his minion.

"Okay, what is he wearing?" asked Snape.

"Greetings, My Lord. Snape," said Lucius as he approached the pair. "Hey! You wore the same costumes! Isn't that something?"

Voldemort and Snape blinked. "What are you supposed to be?" asked Snape.

"I'm the Scarlet Pimpernel," replied Lucius, sweeping off his hat in an elaborate bow.

"Lucius," said Voldemort.

"Yes, My Lord?"

"You're wearing green."

"Well, I don't really like red," said Lucius, as if this should have been obvious.

"It's hard to tell you're the Scarlet Pimpernel if you're not wearing red," said Snape.

"What do you mean?" asked an astounded Lucius. "What else could I be? With my wide brimmed hat with the peacock feather, my silk-lined overcoat, and my gorgeous, ebony, silver snake-headed cane." Lucius swung his cane like a golf club, as if in demonstration of his point.

"Lucius," said Voldemort.

"Yes, My Lord?"

"You look like a pimp."

"Absolutely not!"

"Yeah," agreed Snape. "You do."

"I don't believe it!"

"Go get some cookies and punch," said Voldemort, heading this off before it really got started. "Just make sure Dolohov hasn't been dumping anything in it first."

"Well," said Snape, "that was awkward."

"He needed to know," replied Voldemort. "So, you were telling me about the decorations?"

"Yes, I think crepe is overrated. Though using it to create a Morsmorde was a nice touch."

"I thought so."

"These are really good sugar cookies," remarked Lucius, biting into a bat-shaped one as he returned to Voldemort and Snape. "Oh, drat. I'm getting crumbs on my cravat."

"I also think we should have hired a band," said Snape. "This DJ keeps playing 'Monster Mash,' which was only funny the first hundred times he – By Merlin, is that Bellatrix?" Snape pointed to a couple entering the hall.

It was a woman (or a man in cunning drag, but Voldemort wouldn't have put up with such nonsense, so it was likely no one but a really drunken Macnair would attempt it) in a flouncy pink tulle dress, a large shiny crown and carrying a plastic wand with a giant star at the end.

"It must be Bellatrix," said Lucius. "I don't think we _have_ any other female Death Eaters."

Bellatrix (for it was she) was having some trouble getting through the door, as her dress was too puffy to fit. She attempted to come through sideways, but failed as her dress was pretty much the same diameter no matter which way she turned. Finally, she squeezed down the sides and plowed into the room. She stumbled for a moment, took a deep breath, lifted her head high, and glided into the room as if she didn't look like a giant piece of cotton candy.

As custom demanded that she first pay her respects to the host and her Master, Bellatrix made a beeline for Voldemort. The other Death Eaters parted before her severe expression that promised horrible, painful death to anyone who dared even think about snickering at her costume.

"Bellatrix Lestrange. My most devoted follower," said Voldemort. "I am pleased you have joined us on this most celebratory of nights. You look…uh…interesting this evening."

"I'm Irony," said Bellatrix without a trace of it.

"You're…what?" asked Voldemort, who was the only one in the room who dared question Bellatrix while she had that look on her face because, well, he was the Dark Lord after all.

"I. Am. Irony," she stated again, "because I'm dressed as a good witch, but I'm really a bad witch. Get it? Now, if you'll excuse me I'm going to get some punch. Dolohov has already spiked it, yes?"

And Bellatrix floated toward the buffet table in a haze of sparkles and glitter.

Voldemort, Snape, and Lucius watched her walk away for a moment before slowly turning to Rodolphus, who merely shrugged. "There wasn't much left at the costume shop," he said.

"So what are you supposed to be, then?" asked Snape. "Satire?"

"No, I'm just a scarecrow," replied Rodolphus. "I should go join my wife before she makes Wormtail cower in the corner like last year. My Lord. Gentlemen." And with a little bow to Voldemort, he was following Bellatrix.

"I think Bellatrix wins the 'Scariest Costume' prize," whispered Lucius.

(Author's Note: Not a full update of three stories, but since this one is timely, I decided it shouldn't be put up in, say, December. Also, just a brief reminder that these stories are in no chronological or particular order. They may not even be in the same alternate universe. Enjoy!)


	29. Lord Voldemort Can't Concentrate

(Author's Note: This is a bit of an exorcism. It has to do with the GoF movie. It doesn't really contain any spoilers, but it does help if you've seen the film.)

**Lord Voldemort Can't Concentrate**

Lord Voldemort was trying very hard to pay attention to what Barty Crouch was saying. Honestly, he was. After all, the elder Crouch was one of Voldemort's most dangerous and effective opponents. He was willing to indulge in very controversial, very unapproved methods to stop the Death Eaters, and had quite a few Ministry followers. The hard-line was an appeal Voldemort understood well. Voldemort was lucky that the man's flesh and blood was right here in front of him, and willing to tell any family secret he knew.

If only Barty's tongue wasn't so damn distracting.

Most of the time his tongue was firmly in his mouth, but on those occasions when it escaped, it diverted Voldemort's train of thought by frantically darting about in a futile escape attempt. After a few moments of writhing about, the tongue would surrender and retreat back behind Barty's teeth, leaving Voldemort in a state of miserable suspense. For it was only a matter of time before it would appear again and splatter spittle all over Barty's robe and face.

So Voldemort waited and watched in horrified fascination.

The next attack of the flailing tongue came a few minutes later. Barty had gone off on what Voldemort thought might have been a tangent about his father's treatment of his mother's household china, when the vile thing appeared at the left corner of his mouth. Voldemort wrinkled his nose in disgust, but since he had no nose to speak of, Barty did not notice.

As Barty made some anger-tinged comment about gravy boats, his tongue whipped about wildly as if equally enflamed. A large gob of spit dangled precariously off its end, and when the tongue jerked suddenly from left to right, the drop was flung clear of Barty's person and landed on the arm of his chair.

Voldemort simply couldn't take it anymore. "Bartemius Crouch, Junior," he said.

Surprised at hearing his much-loathed full name from the mouth of the Dark Lord, Barty Crouch stopped his tirade and tongue gyrations in shock.

"You are not Gene Simmons," Voldemort stated as firmly as possible.

"My…my Lord?" stammered Barty. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," answered Voldemort, "that if you can't keep that thing in your mouth for more than five minutes, you will have to wear a bib while addressing me. One of the plastic ones. With a lobster on it. Because watching you soak your robes with spit is making me quite ill. Do I make myself clear?"

Barty's mouth worked in silence for a moment, but for once, his tongue remained blessedly still.

(A/N: Oh, yes. I feel much better. The Sentient Tongue of Barty Crouch was driving me crazy.)


	30. Severus Snape Discovers the Perils of

**Severus Snape Discovers the Perils of Re-gifting**

At the annual Death Eater holiday gathering, Lucius Malfoy was celebrating his now annual tradition of standing under the mistletoe, singing at the top of his voice. "Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to miiiiiiiiiind?"

"Lucius," said Snape, "stop it."

"For auld lang syyyyyyne! For auld laaaaang syne, m'dear! We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet…"

"Lucius, that's not even the same verse."

"For auld lang syyyyyyyyyyyyyne!"

"Hey!" Voldemort stepped forward, snapping his long, white, oft-described fingers in Lucius's face. "That enough. Shut up or I'll _Crucio_ you into next year."

Dead silence from Lucius met the room full of Death Eaters. Which most certainly was a first.

"Merlin, I hate Christmas," said Lord Voldemort, turning away and sipping his nog. "It's so…happy."

"How can you hate Christmas, my Lord?" asked Dolohov. "We have mulled wine."

"The music, the presents, the decorations, the Goodwill Toward Man. What other reasons do I need to hate it?"

"But," said a mystified Dolohov, "mulled wine!"

Snape eyed Voldemort a little more seriously. "I hope you're not considering trying to stop Christmas again."

"No," said Voldemort, gripping his paper cup a little more tightly. "I learned my lesson last year. Is this party over yet?"

"Well, we still have the Furtive Father Christmas distribution to do," said Snape. "As soon as we do that, we can all go home."

"Good. Just give me the stupid thing then."

Snape sent Nott over to the Christmas tree decorated with black and grey garlands to search out Lord Voldemort's gift, and hopefully prevent a death in the near future. Nott brought back a gold and red wrapped package, which Voldemort eyed disparagingly. "I also hate wrapping paper. Who's it from?"

"I don't know, my Lord," responded Nott. "That's why it's called 'Furtive'."

"Stupid," said Voldemort, raising his wand while his Death Eaters ducked reflexively out of the way. "_Scidi_!" The wrapping paper tore violently away from a plain cardboard box. Voldemort removed the top of the box and causally tossed it aside. But when he peered into the box, Lord Voldemort, Master of the Mysteries of the Dark, was so shocked that he dropped the box to the ground, spilling the contents at his feet.

Unsure of what to do, Nott dove to the ground to recover the gift and get it out of sight before Voldemort had a particularly violent reaction. Grabbing it, he discovered it to be some type of dark blue garment, made of thick, soft cloth. It appeared to be a sweatshirt. Granted, it was a piece of Muggle clothing, but Nott could not understand why Lord Voldemort would react with such horror. Unfolding the sweatshirt a little further, Nott discovered the true terror. Covering approximately 80 of the shirt's front was a cheaply done screen of a white rabbit with huge, deep black eyes nestled into a nest of holly leaves bearing bright red berries.

Voldemort finally found the strength to speak. "I really, really, really hate Christmas sweaters."

"Sweatshirts, sir," whispered Snape.

"Christmas sweatshirts," repeated Voldemort, oblivious to correction.

"Wow," said Nott, holding up the sweatshirt for all to see. "That's quite the, uh, giant frosted bunny there."

"Who would dare?" asked Bellatrix. "No, really? Who would dare give the Dark Lord such a gift?"

"Aww," said Lucius, appearing over her shoulder. "Look at its weeny nose!"

Dead silence from the Death Eaters met Lucius. Which most certainly was not a first.

"Oh, man," said Dolohov. "Run."

"No, no," said Voldemort, rising from his chair with a gleam in his eye. "No. I have a better idea. I know exactly what to do with this. This sweatshirt shall serve me well."

A few days later, at the Hogwarts' Staff Christmas Party, Snape was suffering from an acute case of déjà vu. Hagrid was celebrating his now annual tradition of standing under the mistletoe, singing at the top of his voice. "Good King Wenceslas looked out on the feast of Stephen…"

"Hagrid," said Snape, "stop it."

"…Therefore, Christian men be sure wealth or rank possessing…"

"Hagrid, that's not even the same verse."

"…ye who now will bless the poor…!"

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, coming across the room, "I'm quite thirsty. Would you please get me another eggnog?"

"Aiight, p'fessor," said Hagrid, stumbling from the room.

"Severus," said Dumbledore, taking Snape's arm and leading him back to the main party, "I'm glad you decided to join us this evening. I am so pleased that I have even brought you a gift." Dumbledore's eyes gave a little twinkle, as they are prone to do.

"Oh, thank you, Headmaster," said Snape, feeling suspicious, but not knowing exactly why. "That's not really necessary."

"Nonsense. I have been receiving presents all day from people I thought were dead, and several who I am quite certain are. I figure I should pass the good fortune along. Thusly, I have brought you this present. I insist you take it, and spread the generosity yourself."

Snape, now backed into a corner, took the gift reluctantly. "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore. I'll just…"

"Open it!" said Dumbledore with a smile and his twinkling eyes turned to "high beam." Snape sighed and unwrapped the present. "Happy Christmas, Severus."

"Well," said Flitwick, looking over Snape's shoulder into the box. "That's quite the, uh, giant frosted bunny there."

Minerva McGonagall just laughed and laughed and laughed, and then headed over to dessert table to tell Professors Sinistra and Sprout.

(Author's Note: Another single story update for relevance's sake.)


	31. Severus Snape Is Evil

**Severus Snape Really Is Evil**

It would probably surprise many to discover that there were few things Lord Voldemort enjoyed as much as a good book. More specifically, a good magic theory book. Lord Voldemort found the revelation of the building blocks of magic to be an experience akin to a religious epiphany. For even if the book did not contain explicit Dark Magic, it showed the way magic was done and could be manipulated. With such information, even the brightest magic of the wisest wizard could be perverted to Lord Voldemort's sinister will. Knowledge was power, power would corrupt, and at the end of the cycle, Lord Voldemort would stand victorious.

But first: a lot of studying.

So, as was usual on a Friday night, Lord Voldemort carted an armful of books to his headquarters' library for an evening of intense study. He was followed by Lucius Malfoy, who turned pages for his Master and scoured indices for an extensive list of keywords. (It is a little known fact that wizards invented the index for use in their lengthy compilations of magic. Its co-option by Muggles was one of the many injuries to Wizard-kind that Lord Voldemort intended to avenge. He had a list.)

But when Lord Voldemort opened the door to his library, he found the massive oak table already occupied by piles of leather-bound books, haphazardly scattered parchment rolls, and one Severus Snape.

"Oh," said Snape, standing and executing a swift bow, "good evening, my Lord."

"Severus," acknowledged Voldemort as Snape quickly shuffled his papers around to clear a work space for the Dark Lord.

"Hello, Snape," said Lucius, putting some of Voldemort's quills and ink bottles down.

"Lucius? Oh, I mean, Lucius. Hi," said a surprised Snape. As Lucius turned away to drag over some chairs, Snape turned to Voldemort and mouthed, "Lucius?", to which Voldemort just shrugged.

They operated in their separate scholarly spheres for several hours. Lucius grew increasingly bored as time passed, however, because turning pages and looking up words and phrases like "Bloggs the None Too Bright, Bligh" and "Hydro-Toxicodendron" was not the most engaging of pastimes. So, he got nosey.

Leaning around the table, Lucius peered over Snape's shoulder. "What are you writing?"

Snape slowly turned to face Lucius, looking as if he couldn't believe that anyone would dare interrupt him. "Not. Your. Business."

Lucius rolled his eyes. Time spent around Lord Voldemort had taught him that any scholar secretly longed to be asked what he or she was working on. "No, really. I'm genuinely curious. I've never seen you do so much writing. I'm sure our Master would love to hear it too. Wouldn't you, my Lord?"

"Hmm?" asked Voldemort, not even looking up from his text.

"Well," said Snape, "since you insist. Have you ever noticed that Libatius Borage's _Advanced Potion-Making_, well, sucks?"

"No," said Lucius, who hadn't taken Advanced Potions.

"I suppose it's a bit outdated," replied Voldemort, making a little note in the margins of his book.

"A bit? It's a travesty to the art of potion making! It hasn't been adapted or fine-tuned for decades."

"Why do you keep teaching it, then?" asked Lucius, rather sensibly.

"Why should I be bothered if Hogwarts isn't bothered by their students' merely cursory Potions education?" asked Snape.

"I think you just like to complain," said Voldemort, looking up for the first time and smirking.

Snape wisely chose not to reply, and instead gestured to the pile around him. "I have decided to give it a thorough updating now that I am currently…out of a job."

"Yeah," said Lucius, "how 'bout that."

Pointedly ignoring Lucius, Snape continued, "I figure that if you rule the wizarding world…" Voldemort would have raised his eyebrows, if he had, in fact, eyebrows to raise. "…er, when you rule the wizarding world, you'll need someone with educational experience to indoctrinate the next generation. As an experienced Potions Master and professor, I can bring a level of professionalism and organization to the school that would otherwise be lacking. All to your benefit and _my_ own."

"Your own?" asked Voldemort.

"Of course. When you rule all, my book will be published, I'll teach Potions anyway I want, and I'll make all the students buy my book. I'll be rich."

Lucius inhaled sharply. "Wow, that's absolutely evil!"

(Author's Note: If you've noticed that a few chapters are now missing, they've been moved to my new story, So You've Decided to Be Evil. This story will include the capture of Harry and all following Harry-Death Eater interactions. Both of these stories will be updated for every three stories on my LJ, regardless of which kind I write.)


	32. The Death Eaters Ruin the Lestranges'

**The Death Eaters Ruin the Lestranges' Wedding**

Bellatrix Black-Lestrange had never been happier. No, that would be incorrect to say, for Bellatrix was above such common, plebian feelings as happiness. She was self-righteously satisfied. (As was the author, who realized her speculation that Mrs. Lestrange had a dumb alliterative name was right _all along_.) She had made the perfect match (pureblood, approved family, but not so closely related that the children would be born with gills or, Morgana forbid, a Squib); her perfect wedding was over in a flurry of opulent altarpieces, fresh day lilies and gigantic, garish hats; and her reception was being officiated by Lord Voldermort, Dark Master of Ceremonies, himself.

Her smugness probably could have smothered a small puppy. Perhaps she would test that hypothesis later.

Her sister Narcissa, replete in a screaming yellow dress with puffy sleeves and an accompanying wide brimmed hat mounted with a stuffed canary studded with rhinestone eyes to match the dress's trim, followed closely behind Bellatrix to keep her train from dragging on the ground. Bellatrix felt slight gratitude toward her sister, and congratulated herself on dressing her sister in the least hideous of the bridesmaids' dresses.

She wished to present herself to Lord Voldemort and thank him for his generosity in supplying the staff, food and entertainment for her reception. However, he currently appeared to be lecturing to Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy, Antonin Dolohov and, ick, Fenrir Greyback. She made a wide pass around the group, making sure that the Dark Lord saw she had arrived. She would pay her respects later.

The group of gentlemen (and one werewolf) Death Eaters did notice the ladies passing by. They paused their conversation politely, but Lucius couldn't resist waggling his eyebrows at Narcissa. She returned the gesture with some googly-eyes of her own. "Would you stop flirting with her?" hissed Snape. "Your hydraulic eyebrows nearly caused the pastor to spill the sacrament several times."

Lucius pouted, but didn't argue, as it was impossible to argue against the truth.

"I'm hungry," growled Fenrir, bringing the group back to the subject they had been discussing before Bellatrix and Narcissa swept by.

"Quelle surprise," replied Voldemort. "I'm going to need a drink if I'm going to stomach Lucius's romantic attempts and your whining. Where's a waiter?"

At a gesture from Voldemort, an Inferius lurched into Lucius with the apparent intent of offering the group a tray carrying flutes of champagne. The undead creature moaned lowly as they all warily took a glass, making sure to keep an eye on all their stray fingers. Once the tray was empty, the Inferius shambled back to the cash bar.

"You should have hired caterers," said Snape to Voldemort.

"Nonsense," replied Voldemort. "Why should I pay for good help when I can just raise them from the dead?" As another Inferius passed with a tray of hors d'oeuvres, Voldemort picked off a spinach tart and some pinkish paste spread on a cracker.

Fenrir sniffed at the snacks and snorted angrily. "I want meat!" declared Fenrir. "I'm a carnivore. I won't eat any of this vegetable crap!"

Voldemort sighed. "Then why don't you go up to the main table and ask what the house elves are whipping up for the main course?"

Fenrir slouched a little and said sheepishly, "I might…accidentally scavenge one of the Inferi."

"Not at the reception!" snapped Voldemort. "Lucius, go up and ask what we're having for dinner. I'm feeling a bit peckish myself."

Lucuis, who hated getting stuck with the goffer jobs, consoled himself with the thought that he might run into Narcissa, and convince her to step away from her sister for a little "alone time." In the "broom closet." If you "know what I mean."

As Lucius walked away with a jaunty little bounce in his step, Voldemort noticed the groom had recently arrived, and took it upon himself to grab another flute of champagne and introduce himself as the man's new Lord and Master. Sweeping across the room, watching all scatter before him, Voldemort loomed briefly over the surprised looking Rodolphus before grabbing him tightly around the shoulders and steering him to the other side of the dance floor. Voldemort glowered beatifically (if that's at all possible) at the surprised and slightly horrified husband of his favorite Death Eater.

"Have we met before?" asked Voldemort, peering at the man.

"Yes, my Lord. I have served you loyally for many years."

"Oh. Lestrange, is it?"

"Um, yes, my Lord."

"French, right?"

"…Sure."

"Lies," stated Voldemort, gesturing with his glass and sloshing his champagne all over the parquet dance floor.

"My Lord?"

"I know it looks like French, since you have the 'le' article in front of the word 'strange,' but 'strange' isn't French for 'strange.' It's 'étrange.' Technically, your name should be Létrange, or quite possibly 'Lesétrangers.' That would make sense."

Rudolphus blinked. "I'd never given it much thought before, my Lord."

"Well, you should," said Voldemort. "Your French makes my French look positively inspired."

"I didn't come up with it, my Master. It is an old and venerable name-"

"Oh, please! Find me one other Lestrange!"

"My father-"

"Immediate relatives don't count! It's a conspiracy. You're all in this _together_."

Wary of offending the Dark Lord, but eaten up with anger at the disparagement of his family's heritage, Rudolphus came to a decision. He would show his resourcefulness to his Master, who was recognizing him for the first time. "I will bring you a Floo Network Directory, my Lord."

Voldemort looked at him in much the same way as he would look at a tropical fish while snorkeling. "All right."

"That shall prove to you, sir, that there others who share the name 'Lestrange.' It shall be a dangerous task, as I need to break into the Ministry to find this register. I think this speaks of my commitment to my family, which I hope you realize applies to you in my many years of service."

Voldemort nodded and looked into his empty wine flute. "You do that," he said, while looking around for an Inferius to top him off.

And thus charged with his mission, Rodolphus exited his own wedding party to break into the Ministry and hunt down other people who shared his name. Because he had all his priorities in the right order.

"Strange man," said Voldemort to the Inferius who had meandered over with another tray of drinks. "Maybe that explains his name." The undead creature moaned in what Voldemort assumed to be agreement as he tried to determine which glass held the most champagne. It was difficult, what with all the sloshing around as the Inferius swayed back and forth. Voldemort was pleased at his own coordination as he snagged a glass almost full to the brim.

Snape, who had seen Rudolphus walk out, hurried up to Voldemort to find out what had happened. "My Lord, where is the groom going?"

"I have no idea," replied Voldemort. "I think he's gone to find his long lost family."

"But they're all on the other side of the room," said Lucius, wandering back to the group. His robe front was rumpled, his collar smudged with pink lipstick and his hair had come out of the neat ponytail he'd pulled up for the ceremony.

"I don't think he knows that," replied Voldemort. "I think I need to sit down now."

"Did you find out what we're having for dinner?" asked Dolohov of Lucius.

"Oh! Yes," said Lucius, who had forgotten his mission while getting his clothing rearranged (not that it mattered, as Voldemort had forgotten he'd sent Lucius off, or that Fenrir was a strict carnivore, or even that he was at a wedding). "I spoke to the head waiter. It seems we're having braaaaaaiiiins. And marble cake."

Voldemort plopped down in a folding chair and watched, highly amused, as his followers frantically scrambled for their own chairs so they would not be placed higher than He-Who-Must-Sit-A-Head-Above-Everybody. His bemusement was interrupted, however, as a wide, blurry vision in white approached and knelt at his feet. It took him a whole minute to realize this was a human being. "Bella!" he cried, throwing up his hands in amazement at his own deductive brilliance.

"My Lord, I have come to inform you that Rodolphus and I will be cutting the cake momentarily. I am greatly flattered you have chosen to fête our lowly union. I beg your blessing, and pray that you will do us the great honor of giving the first toast."

Voldemort rose and nodded to no one in particular. "Right. I'll need another glass for the toast. Nobody go anywhere!"

Bellatrix accepted Dolohov's proffered hand and rose as Voldemort marched away, blossoming under his recognition and the great honor he was bestowing upon her. She would never forget this day. Bellatrix looked around at the Death Eaters who had been privy to Lord Voldemort's council, and rejoiced at her pre-eminence over them. Then, she blinked.

"Has anyone seen my husband?" she asked.


	33. Lord Voldemort Is Another Year Older

**Lord Voldemort Is Another Year Older, Though Not Necessarily Another Year Wiser**

"I'm wasting my life!" announced Lord Voldemort, apropos of nothing.

"Never!" protested Avery.

"My Lord!" cried a shocked Wormtail.

"Eh?" asked Lucius.

Snape sighed. "It's your birthday again, isn't it?"

Voldemort pursed his lips until they were bloodless, and lowered his eyelids to assume a more brooding aspect. He stalked toward his followers, then paused dramatically. "Yes, Severus. Another year in the life of Lord Voldemort has passed."

"Happy Birthday!" cried Lucius, his wand disbursing a fountain of confetti with a loud BAM!

"No!" snapped Voldemort, swishing his arms about to disperse the confetti. "It is not a happy birthday! It is a terrible birthday. I have had an epiphany!"

"What kind of spell is that?" Avery asked Lucius.

"I have dedicated my life to fomenting my Dark powers. To unlocking the forbidden secrets most wizards are too weak to face. But what has it brought me? Unimaginable power and influence, yes. But has it made me happy? Do I feel fulfilled?"

"I invented it myself," answered Lucius.

"No, I am not happy; I am not fulfilled. I have made a mistake. But there is still time to right it. I can make a difference in the world, and in myself. Therefore, I have decided to disband the Death Eaters and join an animal rights activist group protesting at a mink farm."

"What?" asked the stunned Death Eaters.

"I know you're shocked. After all, I have replaced your own will as your raison d'être in these past few years. Merlin knows what you'll do without me, but you'll all just have to cope. Maybe I'll send you a postcard." And with a jaunty wave, Lord Voldemort was out the door, down the wide, stone walkway, and off to a new life.

"Wow," said Lucius. "Good for him."

ONE WEEK LATER 

Peter Pettigrew took a deep breath and patted the back of his newly purchased heifer. The previous owner, a crusty farmer with red-rimmed eyes, nodded his head at Peter's pride, and said, "That's a fine animal you've purchased. What do you plan to do with her?"

"I've always wanted to open a dairy farm," replied Peter, "but I figured I'd start small."

"Well, you're off to a good start, I'd say."

Peter had thought he would be lost without Lord Voldemort to protect him. He'd had a panic attack following Voldemort's adieu, but after Snape had cursed some sense into him, he'd had a revelation of his own. He didn't need protection. He wasn't proud: he could live as a rat, or even a Muggle. In fact, maybe that was what he wanted. No more Voldemort telling him what to do. No more bowing and scraping, and hoping to be ignored when the dragon shit hit the fan. He'd be his own man. Rat. Whatever. He'd buy a cow.

And so far, life was wonderful. He'd hung up his Death Eater's mask in his cupboard (labeled with masking tape, "Wormtail"), and fled to the country. His future was spread out before him, like the sunlit, cow littered field he was standing in. He would live a quiet life, full of early mornings, satisfyingly hard work, and fresh, homemade cheese. Lots and lots of fresh, homemade cheese.

Lifting his arms over his head, Peter enjoyed a nice, relaxing stretch, before turning to the elder farmer, ready to pay for his purchase. But before he could open his mouth to close the deal that would open the rest of his life, a searing pain shot up his arm. He let out a shrill squeak, causing the farmer to jump back, mystified. Peter's fingertips tingled as the bolt of agony localized itself in his forearm – right on his Dark Mark.

Gasping and twitching on his feet, he turned to the farmer. "I'm sorry. Excuse me. The Master is calling."

"Never heard it called that before," the farmer harrumphed, as Peter ran out of his line of sight to Apparate.

Seconds later, Peter was back in a place he'd thought he'd never see again. Crowded into the foyer of their headquarters/house were nearly all of the Death Eaters, each looking as confused and surprised as Peter. Snape and Lucius lounged near the staircase, apparently discussing Lucius's lack-of-Voldemort-inspired visit to a rainmaker in Wajir, Kenya. Skittering over to join them, Peter asked, "What's happening? Why are we here?"

Before either could answer, a familiar voice boomed down the stairs, "I have had another epiphany!"

Staring up the staircase, Peter saw Lord Voldemort, his eyes ablaze with renewed vigor, proudly descending toward his recently released followers. "Welcome back, all of you. I appreciate your promptness. I take it you all share my zeal for recovering the Darkness within."

Snape frowned while the Born Again Dark Lord made a quick headcount of the Death Eaters. "I thought you had a new calling in life. Weren't you campaigning for animal rights?"

"I was. But a few nights ago, I realized I was taking joy in releasing mink from fur farms not because they were free, but because they would terrorize the countryside, killing small animals and pets, and then getting trapped or killed by larger native predators themselves. I thought I cared about the long-term goal, but I really only wanted to get in on the methods. And then I realized, this is what I've been doing all along, but with Muggles and wizards, not mustelids. And doing it to people is far more satisfying. So I've decided to reclaim my mantle as Dark Lord, and re-gather my followers."

"You mean your mink," said Snape with a cynical sneer.

"So, the Death Eaters are back in business?" asked Peter mournfully.

"Do you have something better to do, Wormtail?" questioned Lord Voldemort, with a dangerous look on his face.

"No. No, not at all," sighed Peter, and went to get his mask from his cupboard.


	34. The Death Eaters Are Customizable

(Author's Note: It helps to have seen the new DE masks for the OotP movie.)

**The Death Eaters Are Customizable**

Gilderoy Lockhart, the fresh-faced Senior Traveling Sales Associate for Master Wizackawall's Discount Robes, Cloaks, Wands, Masks and Assorted Wizarding Paraphernalia, Intl., stood before the cracked mirror in the cramped bathroom, trying to psyche himself up for a big sale. He'd hit the jackpot this time, for sure. He'd been asked to display the newest mask models to a gentleman wizards' club, and he could practically smell the old money reeking from the other room where his prospective clients waited. This would be the big break he needed to prove that he deserved the Senior Traveling Sales Associate title he'd inherited when his predecessor was fired after he mysterious forgot his sales route, all his product information, and that he didn't live in the south of France.

After checking his perfect teeth in the mirror to make sure there wasn't a bit of spinach from lunch stuck in them, he briskly rubbed his cheeks to give them a natural rosy glow. He used to use a touch of rouge, but stopped after his Regional Manager, Benedict Swiftgall, told him it made him look "cheap." Gilderoy Lockhart was many things, including cheap. But he would die before he _looked _cheap! "You're a tiger, Tiger," he said to himself in the mirror. "You've got what it takes. You look like a million Galleons in that sunset orange robe. You go out there and sell the hell out of the those masks!"

Mentally prepared, he threw open the bathroom door dramatically, spread his arms as if he was about to burst into song, and smiled as warmly as a bonfire on a mid-July afternoon. "Good evening, my good gentlemen. My name is Gilderoy Lockhart, and I am the newly appointed Senior Traveling Sales Associate for Master Wizackawall's--"

"Yes, yes," interrupted an annoyed voice from the end of what Gilderoy was just noticing was a very dark room. "Very upwardly mobile of you."

Shot down before his spiel could really takeoff, Gilderoy spent moment fussing with his hair and robes before attempting to pick out who had cut short his introduction. As if Gilderoy could miss him.

The room was long and narrow, with high windows that let in the fading day's dusky light. In the gathering shadows at the rear of the room sat a deathly pale man in an ornate wooden chair. Clumped around him, like silent sentinels, stood dark-clad, stiff-faced wizards and witches, all of whom watched Gilderoy like circling vultures. Circling vultures that were standing perfectly still. In two years, everyone would know who they were: Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. At this very moment, however, Gilderoy had no idea who he was facing, but had to suppose that maybe the man in the chair would benefit from a little sun, and maybe a quality moisturizer.

Gilderoy's reverie on the skincare regiment of his newest patron was interrupted, however, when Lord Voldemort snapped, "Well? Get on with it. My schedule is booked solid tonight, and I don't want to waste time watching some wastrel in pastel pose!"

"But I'm not wearing my Spring Colors robe today, " said Lucius Malfoy, standing to Voldemort's right.

"Not you, Lucius," sighed Bellatrix Lestrange wearily.

Pretending the preceding conversation had been an icebreaker, Gilderoy strode down the room toward the huddled group, swinging his samples case confidently. He thought with some irritation that just maybe this group could have spread out a little more. Some of the people in the back might not even be able to see his presentation! "Do you have a table, sir?" he asked politely, looking around for a place to display his samples. He was greeted by silence.

"You're right, sir. Tables are overrated." Gilderoy quickly dropped his case to the floor. He gave it a swift kick, and it sprang open. Up popped a multi-tiered display frame, as tall as a coat rack, with each level displaying a different mask. The sight of his wares filled Gilderoy with glee. He was going to nail this sale! "Lady and gentleman," he started, making sure to single out Bellatrix in his introduction. He had a way with the ladies, and maybe this would be the key to winning over this dark, humorless crowd. "I come to you today on behalf of Master Wizackawall to introduce you to the newest, the finest, the most modern collection of masks in the wizarding world. Wizackawall's Custom Masques are all the mask you will ever need, whether you're holding a masquerade or an esoteric ritual."

"Actually," said Lucius, "we're trying to inspire fear by making people think we could be anyone and anywhere."

"Well, it's good for that too," replied Gilderoy, nodding vaguely. "Allow me to show you one of our most popular models." Gilderoy plucked from the stand a shining peacock-blue half-mask with large almond-shaped eyeholes rimmed with black. In truth, it was not one of the most popular models, but it was Gilderoy's favorite because of the delicate scrolling at the edges, which called to attention his fabulous eyes without being too obtrusive or distracting. Decoration should _enhance_, not exist for itself, though not everyone was as enhanceable as Gilderoy.

Gilderoy presented the mask to Lord Voldemort with a little flourish. "It's blue," said Voldemort.

Gilderoy waggled his finger as one would at a naughty child. "Peacock," he corrected.

Voldemort studied Gilderoy for a full second before deciding that lifting his wand to hex this idiot into oblivion was way more effort than he was willing to expend. "Blue or peacock," he said, "I can hardly imagine inspiring fear in that."

"I'm glad you brought that up, sir," said Gilderoy, who was never one to miss an opportunity. "Wizackawall's Custom Masques are offered in a wide selection of colors, shapes and sizes for the discriminating wizard. If you'd all just like to take a look at our color samples, in this book I have here, I'm sure you'll all be able to find a color that inspires fear, disgust, heart attacks, whatever you would wish!"

Gilderoy handed his sample book over to Lucius, who immediately began to paw through the pages. "Look at all these choices," Lucius said. "Apple, chartreuse, verdant, crimson, azure, chicory, ebon, fuchsia, plum, cinnabar, cinnamon, sulphur, wine--"

"Even if you order bulk," continued Gilderoy, "you don't all have to have the same color, sirs and madams."

"How many do we have to order to get the bulk rate?" asked Voldemort, who was far more interested in business than in customizable colors. He wasn't going to be wearing a mask anyway.

"—blush, mauve, papaya, scarlet, powder, russet, puce, sugar, saffron, lavender, charcoal, loden…Loden? That's not a color. They made that up."

"The usual amount is 50," said Gilderoy, "but right now we're having a special deal. If you order 20 masks, you can get the bulk rate. I don't offer this to just anyone, you know."

"Hmmm," said Voldemort. "I'm going to need a few more minions."

"—ochre, sienna, goldenrod, rose, olive, drab, indigo, slate, dusk, beige, bisque, almond, cyan, kelly, mahogany--"

"Maybe you should order extras," advised Bellatrix. "That way you won't have to call this fool back as your following grows."

"That's a very good idea, Bella," said Voldemort.

"—honeydew, flame, sea foam, sunset, turquoise, salmon, brick, stone, thistle…this is going to be a difficult choice," said Lucius, finally running out of breath. "What are you going to get, Snape?"

Severus Snape frowned. "Can't I just get white?"

"No, but there's an 'ecru.'"

"I think we'll order 30 to start," said Voldemort.

"Excellent plan," replied Gilderoy, pulling his account book out of his robe and making a note. "Now, I don't want you all to think that we only offer customizable colors. We have a whole range of customizable features, which are illustrated in the back of the sample book. For example, how do you want your eyeholes to look? Should your nostrils be visible? Do you want a full mask or half-mask?"

"You're all getting full masks," stated Voldemort. "I really don't care how pretty you think your mouth looks."

"Awwww," said Lucius.

"In that case," said Gilderoy, "you'll want to look at our selection of mouth holes. Let me get a few of our models off my rack."

"We need mouth holes?" asked Antonin Dolohov.

"Of course we do," said Snape, rolling his eyes. "Otherwise we'd all talk like this: 'Mmmpfh mmerpfh mmmurdurfff mmmmppp.'"

"I don't like that one," said Bellatrix, snatching a pair of masks out of Gilderoy's hands as he came back. "It's a little too 'grill on the prisoner's cell' for me. I prefer this spade topped one. It looks like the gate tops at our country estate. It says, 'Fool with me, and I'll cut off your head and display it on a pike for the peasants to gape at.'"

"Excellent choice, madam," said Gilderoy.

Bellatrix glared at him. "Did you just hear what I said, you empty-headed idiot?"

Gilderoy gulped and took a step back. He'd been getting a bit too confident in this sale. Time to ratchet it up a bit. "This is our newest feature," said Lockhart, lifting another mask from his sample case, and showing it around. He spun just slowly enough so that his robe would swirl out dramatically and display the lovely floral embroidery at the hem. "We're really proud of this one. We now offer custom engraving on the exterior face of the mask. Now, I'm quite sure you gentlemen will not want to engrave your name or the name of your lady love for all the world to see, ha ha ha, but we offer numerous designs to enhance your mask-wearing experience. Why not a curlicue to accentuate that high cheekbone, or a tribal tattoo to make you look fierce?" He deftly switched one mask for another, revealing in his artistry, determined to make the best impression possible. "You can even have it engraved with your favorite licensed character!" he said, gifting Voldemort with his most winning grin.

"I am a licensed character," answered Voldemort, his expression coldly dismissing Gilderoy's gift smile as irrelevant and demanding a receipt for its return.

Gilderoy laughed a little, completely missing the menace. "Now, just so you all know, for today only, at no additional cost, I am going to offer you a chance to make your very own mask-base."

"Huh?" asked Lucius.

"What that means, good sir, is that I will take an imprint of your face, bring it back to our manufacturing facility, and magic your mask to resemble your face! Proud of your Roman nose? No need to hide it behind a mask! Rely on that heavy brow to menace? No worries, your victims will still know its there. But what if you want an entirely different face? We can do that too! We'll change your mask-base to look like anything you want!"

"Wow," said Lucius. "Hey, Fenrir. You could get a mask that looks like a wolf!"

"I don't need a mask that looks like a wolf!" snapped Fenrir Greyback. "I have a FACE that looks like a wolf."

Gilderoy paused at the rude interruption, but continued as if it hadn't fazed him. "All it takes is a quick facial in my special replication bowl, and your features will be marked down for exaggeration in your mask. It's all too easy." Gilderoy reached into the very bottom of his sample case and pulled out his Imprint Basin. "And it won't mar your lovely complexion either, madam." He risked a wink at Bellatrix.

"May I kill him now?" she asked Voldemort, flat-faced and toneless.

"Not yet, my dear."


	35. Lord Voldemort Cannot Get a Visitor's Pa

**Lord Voldemort Cannot Get a Visitor's Pass**

Lord Voldemort was unconcerned about his impending doom.

All right, maybe he'd recently been having these weird premonitions that his end was nigh. Something about the number seven and the month of July. But divination, as everyone knows, is bunk. There was absolutely no reason for him to assign unnecessary importance to vague predictions. It wasn't as if he'd ever paid attention to prophecies before…

Okay, bad example. Still, Lord Voldemort was not worried.

Therefore, his 2:00 A.M. attempt to contact Sauron via scrying crystal (complete with crystal-to-palantír conversion tool, which Sauron insisted was necessary despite Voldemort's conviction that the two devices were practicallythe_ same damn thing_) was certainly not a cry for help. It was nothing more than a late night conversation with an esteemed colleague. They were both nocturnal creatures anyway.

"Is it working?" Voldemort asked. There were many advantages to speaking with Sauron via crystal-palantír, a main one being the absence of that annoying Mouth of Sauron. He was always making snide remarks and unhinging his gigantic mouth to laugh behind his hands. Voldemort had a distinct fear that he would one day meet Snape.

"I SEE YOU!" declared Sauron. On the other hand, there was Sauron's penchant for talking in ALL CAPS and exclamation points.

"But can you hear me? Sauron?"

"I SEE--"

"Yeah, got that. Can you hear me?"

"YES! WHAT DO YOU WANT?!"

"Oh, nothing. I just wanted to talk. It's been a while. How have you been?"

"MY TOWER HAS BEEN DESTROYED AND MY ARMIES DECIMATED! I AM LITTLE MORE THAN IMPOTENT SHADOW AND RAGE! HOW DO YOU THINK I AM?!"

"I remember hearing about that. Sorry I brought it up."

"YOU REALLY AREN'T!"

"Well, no. I am evil, after all."

"LOOK, VOLDEMORT, IT'S LATE! YOU MUST WANT SOMETHING OR YOU WOULDN'T HAVE CALLED!"

Voldemort sighed mournfully. "I've been having these feelings recently…"

"I KNEW IT! I KNEW DELAYING YOUR NORMAL ADOLESCENT GROWTH TO FOCUS ON POWER MONGERING WOULD LEAD TO THIS! OKAY, VOLDEMORT, LET ME EXPLAIN! YOU SEE, WHEN TWO PEOPLE LOVE, OR QUITE POSSIBLY HATE, EACH OTHER VERY MUCH--"

"What? No! Not those kinds of feelings! I'm not twelve, you overgrown optic nerve! I am so beyond the urges of the body that I-- I can't believe you were about to-- I called because I think I may be dying soon!"

"OH_, THAT_ FEELING! THAT POTTER KID IS GROWING UP AND READY TO OFF YOU, IS HE?! FIRST BIT OF ADVICE: DON'T INVEST YOUR ENTIRE BEING INTO A SINGLE OBJECT OF POWER!"

"Obviously!" snorted Voldemort. "I used six."

"THAT'S A GOOD START! WHY DON'T YOU COME BY TOMORROW, AND WE'LL SEE IF WE CAN'T COME UP WITH A PLAN TO KILL OFF THE LITTLE BASTARD, OR AT LEAST KEEP YOU ALIVE FOR ANOTHER CENTURY OR SO!"

And so it came to pass that Voldemort went to visit Sauron to "talk strategy," which had absolutely nothing to do with his fear that his reign of terror over the wizarding world was coming to an end.

There was very little of Barad-dûr left for Voldemort to visit; just some massive blocks of rubble and a giant hole in the ground. Still, sheltered in the lee of a particularly tall piece of rock, was a receptionist's desk manned by a not-particularly-fierce looking desk orc. Perhaps it was the patent leather heels and dainty pearls that made for that perception.

"Help you?" growled the orc, looking up from its typing.

"Yes," replied Voldemort importantly, "I'm here to see Lord Sauron."

"Appointment?" asked the orc, picking up an adjacent clipboard and flipping through the pages.

"I am Lord Voldemort," he stated.

There were a few moments of silence as the orc scanned its list in search of Voldemort's name. "Do not see. Last name?"

"I don't have a last name," replied Voldemort. "I don't _need_ a last name. All who have heard my name remember it, as it echoes forever in their ears. Besides, I didn't have enough letters left over for a proper surname."

"Hmmmm," said the orc. "Do not see."

"Perhaps it is under 'Voldemort,'" he suggested coldly.

"Not there," said the orc, not even looking. "Maybe wrong spelling? See ID?"

"ID? Where do you expect me to get ID? I am reviled by the Mudblood-corrupted Ministry that issues such mundane things. I am beyond government validation. I am a Lord unrecognized by his people!"

"Uh-huh. Lord of where?"

"Excuse me?"

"Under title? Lord of where?"

"Lord of Darkness," said Voldemort.

"Does not narrow down. Many Lords of Darkness. Perhaps should have considered Earl or Viscount of Darkness?"

"What are you talking about? Are you trying to imply that there are other Lords of Darkness named 'Voldemort?' You're not even looking!"

The orc ignored him. "Is Darkness actual location?"

"No, it is not an actual location! Darkness is everywhere! It is prevalent in the hearts and minds of all wizardkind! It is the great void from whence came all evil unto the world! It is a state of _being_!"

"So," said the orc, "self-titled?"

"Oh, screw this!" shouted Voldemort. "There is no advice that pathetic shade of a giant flaming eye could give me that would be worth this aggravation! I'm going home!" And with a violent Apparation, he was gone.

"Ah!" said the orc, as it watched the dust swirling to fill the vacuum Voldemort had left. "Found! Under 'Lord Thingy.'"


	36. Severus Snape Attempts to Join a Prestig

(Author's Note: Based on another true story, because I am a freaking Snape magnet.)

**Severus Snape Attempts to Obtain Membership in a Prestigious Organization**

At home once again on a Friday evening, Severus Snape consoled his wounded, dateless pride by Googling himself on the Internet. Unfortunately, he discovered that the majority of the hits containing his name were virulent, curse-word-laden rants from former students who _obviously_ had not paid the least bit of attention in his classes. muttered Snape. "I think I'll skip that one."

Disgusted with his unsatisfactory Google results, he decided to try phrases that described him, including "Half-Blood Prince," "tall, dark, handsome purveyor of fine educational values," and "Potions Master Extraordinaire." Most of these did not bring up any results he could identify as himself, but the last of these search terms did bring up an organization for the very best in potions' technology and production.

"Why am I not a member of this?" demanded Snape of his computer screen, while clicking through links. "Oh, I see. The Potions Masters' Association of America. No wonder their website is appalling. I wonder if they have a related organization in the U.K.?"

They did not.

"Shame," said Snape. "Well, if they are any kind of quality organization, they will be grateful to have me, regardless of where they are located."

The association listed several contact options on its website, including crystal ball, email, and a fireplace address for the cutting edge of sticking-your-head-into-the-fire technology. Snape, who was no stranger to innovation, chose this option. Throwing down a handful of powder, he stuck his head into his fire, and was immediately faced with a stark cubicle occupied by a young woman.

"Thank you for contacting PMAA," she said. "This is Evadne. How can I help you?"

She looked a bit harried, as if she didn't appreciate his call. Snape bit back a smile of gleeful spite as he realized it must be close to quitting time where she was. _My dear_, he thought, _you can go when I'm done, and not a moment sooner._

"Good evening," he said, turning the screw, "I am interested in finding out more about your organization. However, before we begin, I feel I should tell you that I am in Britain."

"That's not a problem, sir," said the young woman. "We welcome members from all over the globe. Are you a member of a potions firm, supplier or academic institution specializing in potions making?"

"Yes, I am the Potions Master at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Oh! Hogwarts?" Ms. Evadne said, suddenly smiling. "Were you referred by Horace Slughorn? He is one of our most active members overseas!"

"No, I was not," said Snape curtly, secretly miffed that his former teacher had neglected to mention the existence of such an organization to him.

"Oh," said the membership assistant, maintaining her smile. "Um, no matter. I would be happy to provide you with any information you need, sir. May I ask your name?"

"Severus Snape."

"Severus Snape?" she repeated, her smile dropping like the proverbial penny. "The Severus Snape?"

For a moment, Snape felt the needed ego boost that had precipitated the entire evening. "The one and only."

Immediately, the woman stood and fled her cubicle as if a pack of werewolves pursued her. "I'll be right back," she called over her shoulder.

He could see nothing but the grey fabric walls of her cube, and wondered idly why she didn't just put up a picture already. But, before he could pursue that avenue of interior decoration, he heard voices: "Miriam, I have Severus Snape on the line." "The Severus Snape?" "The Severus Snape. What do I do?" Furious whispering followed, and then: "Miriam, I _can't_ talk to him!" "Calm down, Evadne. You're an adult. It's not like he can give you detention."

And then she came back into view with a little stumble, suggesting she had been pushed. She smiled again, but her nervous hair twisting belied its sincerity. "Sir, I just spoke to my manager, and she and I have agreed that perhaps PMAA membership would not be in your interest at this time."

"And why might that be?" Snape asked coldly.

"Well, sir, the truth is…" she swallowed and continued. "The truth is: you frighten the staff. And our members. And the Board of Directors. And our Executive Council. And…PLEASE DON'T YELL AT ME!" she cried, her composure broken.

"I see," stated Snape. "I contacted your organization in the hopes of finding like-minded professionals with which to share advances in the potions field." She cringed and squirmed where she stood. "But, once again, I find my hopes dashed by the incompetence of others. I find instead that my fellows are as weak and insecure as everyone else." The young woman looked around for an escape, but there was none. "I offer my services to embellish your organization, and find myself unkindly rebuffed. I suspect your association shall go belly-up in the near future if you keep turning away talent like this. Rest assured, Miss Whateveryournameis, _I_ shan't waste my time with you again!"

Snape pulled his head from his fire, satisfied at having left the young woman nearly in tears. So what if they had rejected him?


	37. Lucius Malfoy Both Takes and Gives a Tes

**Lucius Malfoy Both Takes and Gives a Test**

You would think that a group of fully-grown, professedly-evil wizards would have enough Dark Magic experience to satisfy your average Dark Lord. But, no. Not Voldemort. Voldemort wanted "standardization."

"I've been waiting for this all my life," he said, "and I'm not going to let you idiots mess it up with your inconsistency."

After weeks of laborious meetings and compilations, a Standards of Practice Guide for Death Eaters was published. Regular dueling recertification was instated, as well as a lengthy exam to test one's Dark knowledge.

And so, it came to pass that Snape had to administer an oral exam to one Lucius Malfoy. "You're in a dark room, lit by a single torch. There are exits to the north, south and east," read Snape off his exam.

"Um, I go north," started Lucius.

"You are in a moldy cavern. There is an exit to the east, blocked by a Muggle."

"I want to make the Muggle spontaneously combust."

"You can't make it spontaneously combust."

"What? Why can't I set it on fire?"

"You can set it on fire, but you can't make it spontaneously combust."

"That makes no sense, Snape. Is that written on the exam? I knew we shouldn't have let Crabbe on the committee."

"No," said Snape impatiently, "it's just that you can't _make_ anything spontaneously combust. That negates the spontaneity of it."

"That's ridiculous," said Lucius. "I'm making him burst into flames out of nowhere. That's pretty darn spontaneous."

"As in 'sudden,' yes. But it's an action perpetrated by _you_. It's guided; it doesn't actually come out of nowhere."

At this point, their bickering had attracted the attention of Voldemort, which is never pleasant. Stomping over, Voldemort snapped, "Knock it off, both of you. No one else is going to be able to concentrate if you keep this up." Snape noticed for the first time that several other pairs of test-takers were watching them. Bellatrix's glare was especially venomous.

"But Snape won't let me set a Muggle on fire!" cried Lucius.

"I don't care! Now, apologize, both of you. And shut up!"

"I'm sorry," muttered Lucius, rolling his eyes.

"I'm sorry you don't understand how spontaneous combustion works," replied Snape.


	38. Bellatrix Lestrange Has Problems

**Bellatrix Lestrange Has Problems**

Lord Voldemort was an imposing man by himself, but when flanked by his most trusted lieutenant, Bellatrix Lestrange, he was at least one and half times more frightening. Bellatrix was the Dark Lord's arm or leg or left kidney, depending on what Voldemort needed at the time, and she loved every minute of it.

Especially when she was at his side, applying the burning brand of her wand to skin of Lord Voldemort's latest "informant." "Don't struggle," she whispered with feigned sympathy to the whimpering wizard. "My wand might slip, and oops! You'll be short an important appendage." She giggled, feeling like a giddy child. "Or not so important, judging by what I see."

"Hold one moment, Bellatrix," commanded Voldemort. "I wish to question him now."

The other Death Eaters stood around the three of them, witnessing and containing. They were her Lord's fortress and bedrock, but she was more than any of them. They were the circle, but she was at the center.

She didn't pay attention to the interrogation. She didn't need to. She needed only to extend her wand when asked and to relish the closeness of her Lord. His presence, intent on the now weeping prisoner, melded into her, overpowering and bolstering her at the same time. She closed her eyes, hummed her pleasure and let herself go.

"What's wrong with Bellatrix?" whispered Lucius to Snape at the outskirts.

Snape considered how much he could tell Lucius without shattering the man's fragile little psyche, but then remembered that he didn't really care. "I think she's getting off on this," he whispered back.

"Ewwwwwwww," said Lucius.


	39. Lord Voldemort Cannot Just Let It Go

(Author's Note: a little dated, but there you go.)**  
**

**Lord Voldemort Cannot Just Let It Go**

Albus Dumbledore could not sleep. The clamor outside was unceasing. He had made many an unpopular decision in his long life, and had even done some things that he himself had struggled to justify. But nothing had ever caused an uproar like this.

"Can't they let a fictional dead man have his peace?" Dumbledore mumbled as he abandoned his bed and staggered to the window.

On the other side of the glass, dozens of Muggle reporters were camped out on his lawn, setting up their cameras in his rhododendrons, and making general nuisances of themselves. They had been there for several days now, hoping to catch a word with Dumbledore, or at least waiting for an opportunity to shout idiot questions over each other. As Dumbledore opened his window, they all stopped chatting amongst themselves and started prepping their microphones and gathering their notebooks.

"Dumbledore! Dumbledore!" shouted one. "How do you feel about your sexuality making international headlines?"

"Professor Dumbledore!" called another. "Former Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, claims that your extreme dislike of him stems from his rejection of your advances back in the 70s. Is this true?"

"Dumbledore! Do you feel that your character is a trick being played on the God-fearing readers of children's books? Or, alternately, on queer-identifying readers?"

"Hush," said Dumbledore. "I'm going to say this once and only once. Whom I tup is none of your business. If you don't get off my lawn in the next five minutes, I'm afraid I'm going to have to curse you all with toenails that grow at an unusual rate. Imagine what that will do to your shoes. Thank you."

And with that, he closed his window. "Rita Skeeters, all of them," he sighed.

Within ten minutes (more than the five he had stipulated, but Dumbledore was a lenient man), his lawn had fallen blessedly silent. But before he could climb into bed and return to his rest, his fireplace crackled into life. Fighting a groan, he said, "This is private fireplace. I don't know how you got here, but I'm on the 'Do Not Bother List,' so I suggest you just back out slowly and pretend this never happened."

"Er," said a familiar voice, "I was kind of hoping we could talk."

"Ah, Tom," said Dumbledore, "how can I help you?"

Lord Voldemort, for it was he, cleared his throat. "I noticed that you've been in the news recently."

"Most unfortunately," agreed Dumbledore.

"Look, I don't want this to be awkward. I'd never known myself until now that you were…you know. I've noticed that you have…a type. Like, the good-looking bad boys. I don't want to assume anything about our interactions in the past, but it would certainly make me feel better to know-"

"No, I have never been interested in you. My taste in men was terrible, Tom," said Dumbledore. "But not that terrible."


	40. Lord Voldemort and Sauron Meet Their

**Lord Voldemort and Sauron Meet Their Match**

It was a tense night at the Fantasy Villains Annual Awards Dinner and Virgin Sacrifice. The Best Villain in a Completed Series award had gone to Sauron every year since the publication of The Return of the King in 1955. But this year promised him some serious competition: the famous Harry Potter series had finally come to an end, and Lord Voldemort (né Tom Marvolo Riddle) was eligible to compete.

And so, it was an equally great upset to both when the winner was announced: Lord Cutler Beckett of _Pirates of the Caribbean_.

When the shock wore off, Lord Voldemort and Sauron (Mouth at his side) huddled together at the reception, gossiping relentlessly.

"I don't know how he gets away with calling himself a Lord," whispered Voldemort confidentially. "Where are his kingdoms of darkness, eh? How many subjects can he claim to rule tyrannically over?"

"Good evening, gentlemen" interrupted a courteous voice. It was the award usurper himself. Beckett carried his award, a golden spike topped with a golden bloody head, under his arm, showing it off for all to see. The bastard.

"Congratulations," sneered the Mouth on Sauron's flaming eye's behalf. "Though I'm not sure how _Pirates _counts as 'fantasy.'"

"We have undead, cursed pirates, fish men on a ghost boat, a waterfall at the end of the world, and a fifty-foot goddess," replied Beckett calmly. "How would you classify it?"

"How did you do it? asked Voldemort, unwilling to suffer this polite conversation. "You ended up just as dead as us at the end of your series. What do you have that we don't?"

"I killed a child," said Beckett, smiling. "On screen."

This gave both Voldemort and Sauron pause. "I tried," muttered Voldemort.

"And failed utterly. But don't worry, Voldemort. If the remaining movies take enough liberty with your, shall we say, completely idiotic plans, you may have a better chance in a few years."

And with that, Beckett turned on his heels to leave Voldemort and Sauron alone, smoldering (in Sauron's case, quite literally) in their suppressed rage.


End file.
